


The price of emeralds

by Ms_SackvilleWest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Harry Potter, Amortentia, Anal Sex, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, BDSM, Background Het, Bottom Harry Potter, Depressed Harry, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Insecurity, Light Bondage, Loneliness, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Mind Rape, Oral Sex, POV Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Infidelity, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Crush, Severus Snape Lives, Slash, Submission, Suspense, Top Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21694144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_SackvilleWest/pseuds/Ms_SackvilleWest
Summary: Harry embarks on a successful career as an Auror. But behind the scenes, his private life crumbles. The Boy Who Lived is dragged down by loneliness, depression - and unrequited feelings for a certain Potions Master who survived the war.Desperate to escape reality, Harry slips into a drug addiction.One day, his dealer offers solace in the form of a limited-edition potion...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 67
Kudos: 119
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snarry_splitpea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/gifts).



> To all fluff-loving readers: this is not a happy story, it contains angst, misery and dark turns. The prompt I was given was "Horrify me and make me sad"... You've been warned! I'd love for you to join me for the ride, just maybe keep some tissues ready <3
> 
> Many thanks to Adavison for their help as a beta. The twists of your mind, your editorial guidance and your kindness during crisis were infinitely valuable.
> 
> For Snarry_splitpea, with love from a fellow Snarry-shipper...
> 
> ~ I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. There's no money being made here - just exploring the wonderful world of magic. All characters owned by JK Rowling. ~

The man bent over the cauldron in concentration, hissing flames licking it from below. He nodded in satisfaction as he observed the potion's consistency. Yesterday, he'd added the Amortentia, which had been a crucial stage. He shouldn't have worried, though: the potion came out perfectly. It was almost done now.

He straightened his back, a calculating glimmer in his eyes. 

Over the past years, he'd made a veritable fortune as a drug supplier – no easy feat, as the authorities cracked down hard on the sale and use of illegal potions. But he was an expert at covering his tracks, and his strategy was to sell rarely but charge richly. A single vial of this particular concoction alone would provide him with several months' earnings. 

_And not just that_... 

He scoffed: an idiot desperate enough to drink it deserved to be rid of their Gringotts savings and face the consequences of their drug use. He'd never had a lot of patience for fools who dwelled on fantasies. 

At least not if their fantasies were ridiculous dreams unmoored in reality.

Reaching over to a shelf, his fingers found the small jar he was looking for. Inside was a dusting of powder so fine it was almost invisible to the eye. He looked at it wistfully. How he'd longed to use it all those years ago when he'd first developed the potion, longed for it to bring him his heart's desire. He snarled at the reminder of how he'd been brutally thwarted by another, the powder rendered useless by a silly infatuation. 

With an angry gesture, he screwed off the lid and threw the contents of the jar into the cauldron.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then the surface of the brew in front of him shifted and changed, until suddenly it stilled. The potion had become completely see-through, like liquid air. He was impressed by the transformation.

Peering into the cauldron again, he inhaled deeply. The scent filled his nostrils: Glen Ord whiskey, dark leather and the smell he loved above all others: a combination of library books, Sugar Quills and wildflower honey.

Desire stirred deep within him. Soon, he would have what had always been meant to be his.

Deftly, he decanted the potion into two vials, leaving both unmarked. With a snap of his fingers he sealed them shut wordlessly, careful to leave no trace of his magical signature.

All the steps were in place now.

He smiled darkly. No one would be able to resist.


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping inside the wards of his apartment had never felt more like a prison sentence than it did tonight. Not even bothering to turn on the lights, Harry Potter stood inside his living room.

The silence. The emptiness. The darkness.

The only light cutting across the room came from the moon outside. He allowed himself to sink down to the floor, back against the front door.

It had been one of those days.

At the end of the war, it had felt like he had so much to live for: the Dark side defeated, his life's mission fulfilled, all of wizarding Britain more joyful than it had been in ages and celebrating, his friends with beaming faces on their graduation day, Ginny by his side – beautiful and fierce – and a feeling of elation in his chest. A sense of freedom he'd never even thought he'd have. 

Voldemort was gone and life had stretched on in front of him, limitless in its possibility.

Harry closed his eyes as a heaviness settled in his chest, the same heaviness he felt almost every night.

In the distance outside, a car alarm blared – the sounds of the city, of a million souls living out their lives in the streets of London. But here in his apartment, high above those streets, he was alone. There was no one to break the silence.

In the giddy period after the war, becoming an Auror had felt so natural. Everyone, himself included, had just assumed that was the career path for him. It was what he was good at, after all – wasn't it? Fighting Death Eaters. Killing Dark Lords. Firing off hexes, putting up shields, uttering curses creatively. It was all he'd ever done, really. When Kingsley offered both him and Ron a spot on the Auror training programme, he'd enthusiastically said yes. A life of adventure awaited, he'd thought. 

Feeling suddenly like he was suffocating, Harry jumped up and yanked at his collar, desperate to get his Auror robes off, feeling trapped, feeling caged, couldn't breathe, couldn’t breathe. 

Finally freed, he threw the robes across the sofa, not caring whether they'd get wrinkled. God knew he made enough to get them dryspelled tomorrow at the Ministry's Charmed Cleaning Service.

Still in the dark, he made his way through the open-plan living room to the kitchen. He let one hand trail along the marble kitchen countertop. It gleamed in the moonlight. It had been Ginny's choice to go for modern minimalism. "As different as possible from The Burrow!" she'd said with a grin on her face. Maybe if Harry too would have grown up as the youngest of seven, he'd have understood her need to make her mark on the world. 

As it had stood, he'd struggled to understand Ginny's passion for cleanliness, decluttering and coldness. What was wrong with The Burrow, he'd often wondered in silence, as she enthused over black kitchen cabinets and minimalist sofas so uncomfortable he never really wanted to sit on them. 

The Burrow was messy, unexpected, colourful. Full of life! Round every corner was magic that surprised and delighted him – the sudden banging of the ghoul in the attic or one of Mrs Weasley's casseroles zooming mouthwateringly past him to land on the dinner table. To him, The Burrow was home. More home than any other place had ever been to him, except for Hogwarts.

Harry looked out of the flat's large windows. No curtains. Ginny had been adamant about that. "It'll take away from the view and it wouldn't be truly minimalist." And yes, the windows did offer a majestic view over London. 

But most nights, he was home so late all he got to see was a gaping hole of darkness. A reflection of his own face, staring back at him.

And these days, Ginny wasn't even here to enjoy the view anymore.

His shoulders slumped. He walked over to the fridge. The sudden harsh light when he opened it made him avert his face. There was nothing in there anyway, he knew. A jar of olives, a couple of beer cans, some leftover Chinese food and a carton of milk – just past its sell-by date, as he'd discovered that morning when he'd poured some in his coffee. He hadn't had the energy to go grocery shopping after work.

Work.

Closing the fridge again, the day came flooding back to Harry. He groaned inwardly.

Stumbling out of one of the many gilded fireplaces into the Atrium this morning, he'd brushed the ash from his hair and cursed himself for still not having learned how to Floo gracefully, despite being one of the most senior Aurors in the corps.

How hard could it be not to draw attention to himself while arriving at work, he'd thought bitterly, as he tried to avoid eye contact with the other Ministry employees. Several witches from the Department of Magical Transportation had nudged each other as they walked past him, giggling, one going so far as to overtly flutter her eyelashes at him. 

He'd looked down at his feet, walking briskly through the hall past the modern-art monstrosity Kingsley had replaced the original Fountain of Magical Brethren with.

His cheeks had burnt a bright red as he'd been reminded of the stupid fountain's inauguration ceremony. 

"Just a short speech, a few words really, nothing more," they'd asked for. He'd grudgingly agreed to be part of the event, only because he owed Kingsley for his spot on the Auror programme. By the time he'd found out he'd be the ceremony's main attraction, it had been too late. He'd been shoved on stage for a thirty-minute speech in front of Ministry bigshots, Daily Prophet journalists and select members of the public, all gazing up at him in adoration.

As if he knew more than them about how to rebuild a life after war… As if he held the key to the continued happiness of the entire wizarding world in his hands.

Averting his eyes from the fountain, not daring to look up, he'd almost made it to the lifts for the morning's first meeting when suddenly he'd collided with –

Snape.

Shocked, his own green eyes had locked into the eyes of the taller man. They were dark as ravens at midnight and awash with a blazing fury. 

Harry had stumbled backwards.

"Watch. Where. You. Are. Going. You. UTTER. Imbecile," the Potions Master had spat out with such derision on his face that Harry had shrunk back. Horrified, he’d prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him, or for a Basilisk to kill him on the spot – anything to escape the glare directed at him. 

His mouth was dry and it felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

It had been weeks since he'd last seen Snape. The man usually arrived at work very early and left very late, or so his potions assistants whispered in the hallways. Apparently he spent the majority of his time in his private lab in the Ministry's dungeons, allowing not even a flutter-memo to disturb his presence. 

But the innovative potions he supplied the Ministry with were of stellar quality, and as investigator he'd been essential in helping the Department of Magical Law Enforcement uncover several illegal potions rings. So nobody dared remark upon the Potions Master’s harsh attitude – not even those who still considered the man to be guilty, despite him having been cleared of all charges after the Minister himself and even Potter had vouched for Snape at his trial.

Standing suddenly so close to Snape that morning, after weeks of nothing, Harry had felt his face flush and started to stammer out an apology. "I'm s-so sorry, S-sir, I didn't mean – I was just – "

The man hadn't even dignified his rambling with a response. His upper lip twitched into a sneer that silenced Harry straight away. Harry's heart had hammered knife-like in his chest.

A split second later, Snape had turned around with billowing robes, pushing past him with a scowl. 

Then he was gone.

Harry had stared after him at the passage leading down to the dungeons, frozen in misery. Even the hem of the man's robe grazing his leg would have been better than this nothing. 

Several other Ministry employees looked at Harry curiously on their way into the lifts. It was only when two of his colleagues had walked up to him with a cheerful ‘Good morning’, that he'd managed to push away the feeling that had threatened to crush him and smooth his face into a mask of friendly professionalism.

The rest of the day, Harry had walked around in a daze: unseeing, unfeeling, reliving the brief encounter of that morning and getting more and more depressed every time he'd thought of it.

When Ron had knocked on his office door that evening to suggest a drink in the Leaky Cauldron, he'd just stared at his friend. "You a'right, mate?" Ron had asked with a worried look on his freckled face.

"Yeah… Yeah." Harry had responded. He'd shrugged. "Just, erm, you know, busy day. Still got to finish up some of this. McNalley again …" he'd said, waving his arm vaguely at the stack of parchment piled on top of his desk. 

"Aw, blimey, he still got you on that Vanishing curse incident then? Ugh. Better you than me," his friend commiserated. 

Head Auror McNalley wasn't a bad boss, but they both knew he'd always been particularly hard on Harry, from the first day of the training programme.

Not that Harry minded: given the choice between being forced to work twice as hard as the other Aurors or being swooned over and given special treatment as the Wonderful Saviour of the Wizarding World, he'd take McNalley's treatment any day.

Pulling out of his memory of that morning, Harry walked back from the kitchen to the living room. He stopped at the window, resting the palm of his hand against the cold glass. A million pinpricks of light were scattered in the night, the Thames cutting through the city like a dark snake.

Right before Ron had left his office today, he'd looked at Harry over his shoulder. "Last chance, mate," he'd smiled with a tempting eyebrow. "Your choice: McNalley or a pint at the Leaky… On me!" 

Harry had forced a smile. "You go," he'd said with enough fake optimism to fool Ron. "Next time. Promise." With that, his friend was gone and Harry had been alone in his office again.

He'd let his head fall with a thud to his desk. His desk lamp cast a small circle of light on his black hair, a grey strand or two shining silver around his temples. He'd sat in silence for a long time.

With the heaviness of a man sentenced to death, he'd taken his briefcase, thrown on his robes and walked over to the hearth. He threw in a pinch of Floo powder. "Harry Potter's apartment!" In a whoosh of green flames, he disappeared.

Standing in the silent prison of his apartment now, looking out over the city, he felt lonelier than he'd ever felt before.

He knew he shouldn't do it.

He knew he shouldn't. He was smarter than this, he knew it would destroy him in the end. And Hermione had almost found out a few months ago, had remained suspicious even after his elaborate lie explaining away the syringe in his bathroom bin.

But the pull of it was too strong. And he was tired. So tired.

Dark eyes flashed in front of him. A regal nose, and those thin, thin lips…

Harry closed his eyes. Swallowed.

He put one hand into his pocket, fingers quietly finding the charmed Galleon. He pressed his thumb against it once.

When the coin glowed green in his palm a few seconds later, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He'd feel better soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry tugged his collar up and dug his fists deeper into his coat pockets. It was freezing, his breath formed wisps of fog every few seconds. _Where the hell was the man?_ he asked himself for the umpteenth time. 

Standing around waiting among rubbish bins like this always made him feel nervous. He really couldn’t risk being seen… Harry almost decided to go back up to his flat, when the telltale crack of Apparition stopped him in his tracks.

He spun around.

Right behind him, in the darkness of the alley, an elegant man with sleek blond, shoulder-length hair took him in. One eyebrow arched. "Miss me again, Potter?" the man asked with an unmistakable hint of teasing.

"Hullo, Draco," Harry sighed.

Draco Malfoy cocked his head slightly and pouted his lips at Harry. "Missed you too, darling," he replied with a twinkle in his eye.

Harry stepped nearer, his body tense with nerves. "I don't have time for this right now, Draco," he hissed.

"What, no time for the love of your life?" Draco responded too loudly, with a mock look of hurt.

Harry grabbed hold of Draco's robes and pulled him into the shadows, furtively glancing around. The alley behind his flat was almost deserted at night. The rubbish bins helped hide them from sight, but he still felt on edge.

"I mean it! Stop playing around," he whispered.

"Oooh, playing around – now we're talking!" Draco grinned slyly.

"Draco…" Harry's voice took on a tired hint of warning.

"Now now, no need to get so defensive. Just my lonely heart longing for you to… warm it up a little before getting down to business." Draco wasn't dropping the game. "You know, maybe invite me back up to that soulless flat of yours again…" His pupils gleamed mischievously in the dark.

Harry closed his eyes. 

He knew it had been a mistake to sleep with Draco. 

But it had only been a few months since Ginny had left him, and the emptiness had still been so raw he'd been desperate for any kind of human contact to make him feel that maybe, it hadn't been his fault things had fallen apart. That maybe he could still be wanted. That he wouldn't be alone forever.

It all began when Harry had bumped into Draco one night as he was walking home. He'd been drinking by himself at a bar in Soho - something he had been doing a lot since Ginny moved out. 

That Draco of all people had crossed his path that night had been so unusual, Harry had later wondered briefly if maybe it hadn't been a coincidence. But of course it had been. They'd struck up a conversation on a street corner, late-night revellers swerving past them, tottering unstably on heels, clutching at friends and singing drunkenly.

With a surprising knack for asking the right question, Draco had wondered how Harry was doing. _Really_ doing, he'd emphasised. A feather of gentleness had laced his words. 

In an instant, Harry's throat had tightened and he'd felt tears well up in his eyes. Draco knew about his split from Ginny. _Of course he knew_ , Harry had thought bitterly. The papers had written about the break-up almost non-stop for weeks, it had been front-page gossip.

Looking into Draco's eyes that January night – eyes the grey of oceans, waves gently lapping the shores of wintery beaches – Harry had hesitated for the briefest of seconds, unsure whether to confide in the man. 

But Draco had looked at him so expectantly, without judgement. 

Harry had reminded himself that the blond in front of him had changed a great deal since his Slytherin days. They’d seen each other once in a while at parties, had had the time to catch up and get to know each other without the House rivalries or the constant pull of Dark versus Light, without Draco's father controlling his insecure son's every move. 

In fact, the few conversations he’d had with Draco had been rather pleasant, so Harry wiped his nose on his coat sleeve and took the plunge.

"Uhm," he'd started softly, as Draco rubbed his hands against the cold and stamped his feet to stay warm, waiting for Harry to continue. "It's kinda freezing and it's a long story, I guess. I don't live that far from here… Maybe you could… come up, have a drink? I mean… if you want."

Draco had looked at him in silence before nodding and offering him a smile so sudden it made Harry's entire body thaw. 

It had been weeks since anybody had smiled at him, weeks which seemed to have consisted of nothing but hiding out from the paparazzi and his friends. Harry hadn’t wanted to see anybody, too distraught about the breakup to face the pitying, prying looks.

They had Apparated to Harry's flat. 

Draco had whistled as he stepped inside. "Whoo… Very fancy! I like the furniture, must have cost you half your annual Auror's salary. Never knew your style was… hospital-morgue meets upscale-private-prison, though" he'd said, cocking his eyebrow as he'd turned to Harry.

With that, Harry had broken down.

He'd poured out the entire story to Draco, sitting next to the man on the uncomfortable couch with his knees drawn up to his chest.

It was the first time he'd talked with anyone about what had happened. 

How happy he'd been with Ginny in those first years after the war. Moving in together, just like entering the Auror programme, had been like a puzzle piece designed by fate. All Harry had to do was lay it in place. They'd never discussed the future but Harry had simply assumed this was what they both wanted and how it would always be: there would be a house just like the Burrow, and children – tiny redheads with messy hair and freckled blackheads – and a dog maybe, and Christmases together and holidays in Cornwall.

But then the trials had started and Harry had become intensely involved in all of them – standing witness, giving testimony and offering the Wizengamot memory after memory for them to pour over in the courtroom's Pensieve, answering countless questions and reliving the trauma of the war in all its horribly intensity, over and over again.

And that was before the most difficult part, at the very end: Severus Snape's trial.

Harry had known the day would come ever since he'd found out Snape had miraculously survived Nagini's bite. Apparently, the man had carried antivenom with him whenever he was called to meet Voldemort. That precaution, as well as the ministrations of one of his house elves and a long period of healing had saved the man’s life.

But still Harry hadn't been prepared.

He hadn't been prepared for the onslaught of feelings that hit him during the trial. 

Guilt – for all the years he'd believed Snape had been evil incarnate, mistrusting him without realising he was in fact risking his life for the Light every single day by spying on Voldemort. Confusion – at having to completely rethink everything he knew about his Professor after seeing the memories Snape had given him as he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Worry – over how Snape was doing now, having hovered so near death and suffered lethal poison. 

A strong feeling of kinship, of understanding – the similar paths their lives had taken, both puppets in a much larger game, their fates determined from day one. 

And, underlying all other feelings, a burning desire – for Snape to see him, truly _see_ him: for who he was, just Harry.

When Snape had entered the courtroom – black robes offsetting the elegance of his drawn face, dark hair straight and loose – the utter chaos Harry felt in his heart had almost knocked him off his feet.

But one thing had been clear to him: he would fight. Snape's name would be cleared, he would be a free man. And Harry would make it happen. He didn't even have to think twice. So Harry had put aside his tiredness after the weeks of court proceedings, and fought as if his life depended on it.

When he’d delivered his final plea in defense of his former Professor, it had been from the heart. His words had encompassed all the conflicting feelings he had towards the man on trial. He’d spoke those words to make the jury see sense, but most of all he’d spoken them to Snape, to let the man know how Harry now felt about him.

At long last, the knock of the judge's hammer came.

The verdict he'd been waiting for.

Harry held his breath and felt the blood rush to his head.

"Not guilty."

The words rung out against the clammy walls of the dungeon courtroom.

A split second later, the room burst into noise, lights, yells, shoving - the shutters of paparazzi cameras, lawyers jumping up from their seats, the Wizengamot filing out of the courtroom, the audience buzzing its shocked commentary, buzzing buzzing buzzing –

Harry sat in silence. Dazed.

Completely unaware of the chaos around him. _Not guilty_. He had to repeat the words to himself several times.

All he saw in that moment was the lone figure at the front of the room.

Sitting in the accused dock, Snape's back was perfectly straight. Light reflected off his hair, giving it an obsidian shine, almost surreal.

Beautiful. Untouchable.

Harry yearned for Snape to turn around: a single word, a reaction – any reaction – anything at all, he just wanted the man to look at him –

But nothing came.

As Severus Snape rose to leave the courtroom, Harry saw he would have to walk past him on his way out. By then, Harry had almost reached fever pitch: surely his former Professor would look at him? Would in some way acknowledge Harry, show some insight into what he was feeling or thinking, perhaps exchange a few brief sentences with Harry or even just meet his eyes –

But Snape swept past Harry without so much as a glance.

The sound of his boots echoed off the stone floor as he walked out of the courtroom. Black hair curtaining his face, his expression was hidden in shadows.

When Harry realised what was happening, he stumbled out of his seat in the defendants' box, struggled to reach the exit.

"Wait!" he called out, finding back his voice. "Professor – Sir!"

But by the time Harry managed to push his way through the crowd, Snape had exited the room. 

All Harry had been left with, was the faintest trace of the man's scent – cigarette smoke, woodspice and a hint of bitter iron. 

Harry had been crushed.

But he'd hardly had time to think about the events, because his Auror finals had been scheduled for the week straight after the trial, taking up all his time and energy, and Ginny was offered a position as Chaser with the Harpies and suddenly she was away for practice every evening and most weekends and Harry himself came home from work exhausted every night and there was never time. There was never time.

It was as though they were two ships passing each other in the night. 

The dream of the Burrow-style house and the pitter-patter of children's feet slid away. All their plans became distant memories, rather than a reality that would someday be theirs.

Months went by, and everything in Harry’s life continued to rush past.

But in the midst of the chaos, as he and Ginny drifted apart, there was one constant for Harry:

Snape.

The man was on his mind almost every single day. Harry found himself wondering where his former Professor lived now. How he was coping with the trauma of the war. Whether the wound had scarred. What he did during his waking hours. What he did at night.

Whether he ever thought of Harry.

On the best of days, Harry was able to quickly push the thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the gruelling shifts he pulled as an Auror, the interminable missions McNalley sent him on.

But the days in which he was able to ignore the thoughts were few and far between. 

More often than not, Harry found himself turning memories of Snape over in his mind, conjuring up his former Professor's face. He thought of the last time they'd seen each other. Long legs striding past him in a courtroom. High-necked robes. There had been no word from Snape since that day. Not a word about him in the press either: as if the man had disappeared into thin air.

Harry wasn’t able to discuss any of it with Ginny. At the start of the trials, she'd been understanding of his involvement and the time it consumed. She'd been less patient when he'd gotten obsessively involved in Snape's trial, not understanding why this trial should be so much more important than any of the others. 

He'd tried to explain it to her several times, but she'd always looked at him with a blank face. 

"I don’t care about his motives, he was still a foul-tempered dungeon bat," she'd shrugged. "Wanna come watch the next games on Saturday?"

Those days, when Harry lay in bed at night, he listened to Ginny's quiet breathing next to him. Like a stranger. A woman he shared his life with without remembering why. 

He stared wide-eyed into the darkness. Picking over his thoughts without understanding them. Why did Snape haunt his every waking moment?

In the tired hours between midnight and waking, the desire to see Snape was like a physical ache in his body. As the hands of the clock crept forward, he sometimes closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine a different life. A different body lying next to him. Close enough to touch. 

But whenever he opened his eyes again, the ghosts of his fantasies disappeared. All he was left with, was silence.

The months turned into years, and Harry became more and more withdrawn. 

He stopped trying to talk to Ginny about his struggles at work. How rounding up the last of the Death Eaters was nothing like the adventure he'd assumed it would be. It only reminded him of the cruelties of war. How he despaired of the way the press hounded him even now – the Daily Prophet forever carrying stories on what the Slayer of the Dark Lord was up to these days.

Sometimes, Harry felt as if he lived in a cage, created for him at birth by the Prophecy. A cage that was impossible to break free from even after Voldemort's demise. 

Even his best friends sometimes seemed part of the cage: Ron enjoyed regaling the corps with stories of their war-time antics, making everything sound so much more glamorous than it had been. And Hermione didn't shy away from asking him to use his fame in support of her latest legal petition on the rights of magical creatures. 

Whenever Harry thought about the cage, he felt trapped and tired. As if there was no space for the man he'd grown up to be. 

All anyone ever wanted to see was a green-eyed Boy Wonder, frozen in time.

But he couldn't talk to Ginny about any of it.

One evening, as he'd come home unusually early from work, his life had been turned upside down.

He'd stepped through the wards into the apartment. Walked through the living room, undoing the clasps of his outer robes. Come to the door of the bedroom and –

Ginny hadn't noticed him at first. Her head had been thrown back in ecstasy as her hips moved, whatshisname – her manager – breathing heavily under her.

Harry had simply stood in the doorway, staring at them in bed together.

An hour later, Ginny stood with two suitcases in her hands by the front door. She looked over her shoulder once before stepping out, as if she wanted to say something. Harry felt like he had been buried alive. There was only numbness in his body. He caught himself hoping Ginny wouldn't apologise or explain. When she did speak, her voice was flat.

"So I was the one to do it. If it hadn't been me, it would've been you. You know that, Harry. One of us had to be the first to admit it."

With that, she was gone.

That had been in October. Harry had stood in the apartment, tired. The afternoon light filtering in through the windows had been melancholic, the colour of things passing.

Autumn had slipped by in a blur. Harry had been only slightly surprised by how little he'd missed Ginny. If anything, that part had been almost a relief. 

But the emptiness that came in the breakup's wake punched him in the gut. Being suddenly alone forced him to face exactly what his life had become: a lonely, endless loop of stress and pretending – to enjoy his work, to be everyone's perfect hero, to know what he was doing in life, to not feel completely lost.

As winter had come, he'd slipped into a full-on depression. 

"So ermmm… Yeah… That's where I am today..." Harry had sniffled and finished up his story to Draco Malfoy. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

Draco hadn't said anything while Harry was talking.

The apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Sharing had left Harry completely drained. If he'd had any energy left, he'd probably have felt embarrassed about allowing himself to be so vulnerable. But he simply sat with his face turned down, waiting for the verdict.

Suddenly, he felt a soft hand coming to rest over his own.

Harry looked up in surprise. Draco sat much closer to him than he'd realised. The blond gave him an indecipherable look. Illuminated by moonlight spilling into the room, his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. Harry's breath became shallow.

Slowly, Draco began to caress Harry's hand.

With a shiver of realisation, something clicked into place for Harry. He'd long since known that Draco was gay, but never stopped to think much about his own sexuality.

In spite of the emptiness and loneliness he felt – or perhaps because of them – Harry was suddenly more sure of this than anything he'd felt in a long time. In a locked-off corner of his heart, something started to make sense.

As Draco leaned over, Harry didn’t said no.

The morning after, as he woke up and looked at the masculine shoulder peeking out from under the covers next to him, Harry stared up at the ceiling. 

It was a puzzle piece. The first puzzle piece since the end of the war that he had laid himself. Consciously. Out of his own free will. 

Harry smiled.

They slept together a few more times after that. 

With each encounter, each coming together of muscular bodies – tongues seeking, thighs grinding, hands grasping, a roughness that sparked lust like nothing before (definitely not like the softness and stillness Harry had always associated with sex) – Harry became more convinced. 

Not of Draco, specifically: the blond was a skilled enough lover, introducing Harry to a range of new pleasures. But he was also distant, never quite opening up, and Harry struggled to relate to his frustrating blend of cockiness and insecure arrogance.

Instead, it was the sudden freedom that made Harry feel giddy. The discovery about himself and his sexuality, so different from the cage he'd always felt trapped in. He was finally choosing actively, letting himself be who he realised he'd been all along.

The last time Draco slept in his bed, another piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

The Slytherin lay underneath him, arching his back as Harry panted over him. "Potter…" Draco gasped in climax. Harry closed his eyes at the words, seconds from coming himself.

Suddenly, his memory was pulled back to another time and place: a Potions classroom, looking up through the fumes over his cauldron at a face inches from his. Then a dark voice pronouncing his name with such intensity it left him trembling: 

"Potter..."

With a shout, Harry orgasmed as an image of Snape exploded into his mind.

Afterwards, as Draco drifted off to sleep, realisation hit Harry like a Bludger to the head.

He was completely, utterly and desperately in love with Snape, and had been so ever since the final night of the battle.

That was six years ago.

Fuck.

****

"Come on, Potter, you know you want to," Draco half-wheedled, half-teased.

Harry groaned. "Draco… We've been through this."

"Merlin, you're no fun!" Draco rolled his eyes in return. "I still don't understand why we suddenly had to quit shagging. You seemed keen enough on my cock…" He slowly let the tip of his tongue trace his lip.

Harry stared down at his shoes. 

He'd never told Draco about what he'd admitted to himself after their last night together, but it had strangled all desire in him for the blond, or anyone else. 

He knew who he wanted.

And he could never have him.

Harry pulled his coat tighter around him. It really was freezing. 

"I need a fix." He looked up at Draco in determination.

The other eyed him cunningly. "I thought you were done with that?"

Harry shrugged.

"Bad day, then?"

No response.

"Alright," Draco said, reverting back to business mode. "It's your life. Just don't come crying and blaming your choices on me afterwards, Potter. You're the one who said you were going to quit once and for all."

Harry bit his lip. It was a year since Draco had sold him his first potion.

He still remembered how surprised he'd been when Draco had offered him a fix after a bout of particularly vigorous sex. Harry had been lying slumped in bed, exhausted and feeling low again.

"Here. Something to make your mood a little less intense," Draco had said. His tone had caught Harry's attention. "This one's on me." Draco had held up a small vial to Harry.

Harry had eyed the potion suspiciously.

"Go on then, I'm not trying to poison you." Draco's voice suddenly sounded hollow. "Life gets tough sometimes. You and I both know that…"

Harry had known exactly what horrors Draco referred to. In one swig, he'd downed the drug.

In the year since, he'd come to rely heavily on Draco's wares. 

They never talked openly about it, but it had become clear to Harry that Draco ran a successful business in magical drugs. Whenever Harry asked questions – especially about where the drugs came from – Draco just waved his hands. "No need to concern yourself with the specifics of my little venture," he'd say with a wink and an air of insouciance.

Harry had kicked himself for giving in. It wasn't that he couldn't afford the drugs, though Draco didn't sell his potions cheap. No, he had enough money in Gringotts to fuel his habit. 

It was the consequences of potential discovery that made him nervous: there was no doubt in his mind what would happen to his career if word of his use ever got out. Shacklebolt was a liberal Minister on many fronts, but when it came to drugs, the line was drawn in stone.

But just weeks after his first fix, things had spun out of control. 

He'd been reading the Prophet and suddenly seen the announcement on page three: "Former Death Eater returns to take up Ministry post as Potions Master." It was as if time had stood still.

Now, a year later, his habit had spiralled out of all control. Ever since the day he'd seen Snape's name included on the flutter-memo contact list at work. His return had been so ordinary, as if he'd never been gone, as if Harry hadn't obsessed for years like a madman over whether they'd ever meet again. 

The drugs were now an almost daily habit.

Harry didn't know how else to cope with the fact that Snape worked in the same building as him. That colleagues mentioned the man's name and lauded his expertise. Shacklebolt himself had publicly praised Snape for the way the Potions Master had contributed to sending conscienceless drug suppliers to Azkaban. 

Hearing talk of the man, getting up in the morning and knowing there was a chance he could see Snape pass him in the hallway during the day… it was too much for Harry.

He needed the drugs. He had no idea how else to cope with the worst of it all: that Snape, since his return, still continued to treat Harry in the exact same way he had on that final day in court.

Harry didn't exist for Snape.

It was becoming more difficult to sustain his drug habit though. Some days, Harry noticed his limbs twitch in the office when he was coming down from a particularly powerful potion. He'd started relying on them so heavily he sometimes took a swig in the bathroom at work between meetings, to get through particularly bad days.

Draco had shown him how he could inject the potions directly into his veins rather than drinking them, a tactic he'd noticed numbed the pain quicker, got him high faster, made him forget more completely.

But when Hermione had found the used syringe in his bathroom a few weeks ago, it was as if he'd come to his senses. He wouldn't be able to hide his habit much longer if he continued this way, and he needed to keep his job: while miserably unsatisfying, it was still a way of being near Snape. 

He'd managed to spin a tale for Hermione and she'd believed him – enough even not to tell Ron, to his surprise – but Harry had known he needed to try and stop. At least cut back a little bit.

He hadn't summoned Draco since then, though he'd struggled.

But tonight, after his encounter with Snape in the Atrium that morning, it was as if all willpower had left him.

He looked up at the night sky above them, just visible over the alley. There were no stars, the city blocked out all natural beauty. 

Harry felt rejection course through his entire body again, saw Snape stalking away again from him towards the dungeons.

It hurt too much.

"I'll take whatever you've got," he whispered.

Draco smirked as Harry stood trembling before him. He'd known the minute his charmed Galleon had lit up with Harry's summons that the man wouldn't say no tonight.

Some days, he couldn't believe how easy it was to strike a deal. 


	4. Chapter 4

"Before I give this to you, I need you to understand this one is special," Draco warned Harry with an odd glimmer to his eyes.

Harry looked at Draco questioningly. "What do you mean, 'special'?" he responded with his hand still out.

Draco cocked his head. "Let's just say it's not every day I have limited-edition potions like this on offer. In fact, it may just be a one-off. My supplier… likes to experiment."

Harry shifted. He was hungry for a fix and his insides felt like stone, but his Auror instincts still kicked in. "Experiment?" he frowned.

Draco had always refused to divulge anything about his suppliers. Harry supposed there must be a few different ones, as the drugs he bought from the blond came in different kinds of vials, some more elaborately designed than others. 

At first, he'd been worried the potions would have harmful side effects. But so far, everything had been fine – more than fine, in fact: the few times he'd bought potions from other dealers, the effect hadn't been nearly as strong and he'd been left with a pounding headache and cramps the day after. Draco's wares seemed to be top-of-the-line. He'd never had a bad trip. As a result, he trusted Draco.

Still, the thought of some shady supplier experimenting made him nervous.

"Don't worry," Draco smoothed. "This supplier is my best." He paused slightly. "And… I daresay the trip you'll get from this potion may be exactly what you're looking for…"

Harry looked up at that.

The drugs he depended on these days had strong anti-anxiety, mind-numbing effects. A way to deal with the stress in his life and escape, drifting off in a haze in which everything seemed fine and he no longer felt as if he was slowly falling apart each day.

"What does it do?" He looked at the vial in his former classmate's hand.

It was thin and long, sealed with black wax. Held up between Draco's thumb and forefinger, the contents seemed completely colourless. Bending closer, though, Harry could just make out small dark-red flecks swirling around in the potion. He shuddered.

Draco lowered his voice suggestively. "I know you've been… lonely."

Harry looked at him sharply, his expression suddenly guarded.

Draco held up one hand. "I'm not asking questions. But since the break-up… Anyone with half a brain can guess dating's not easy for the Boy Who Lived."

Harry swallowed, looking away. Something prickled behind his eyes. "I don't want to date. I'm not interested in random people." The half-lie covered the deeper truth.

Draco snorted. "I mean, I get it. I wouldn't be so keen either if I were a celebrity and the Prophet splashed every little detail of my private life all over the front page. Can't imagine the publicity would leave much space for a relationship to develop naturally. Still, doesn't mean you never get lonely in that warm and welcoming apartment of yours." He raised one eyebrow sarcastically.

Harry looked down at his shoes. He suddenly noticed how quiet the alley was. At this hour of night, there was very little traffic.

Draco continued in a softer voice. "How many people around you actually know you?" He took a step closer to Harry. "I mean the real Potter. Not the Potter everyone adores, with his hordes of fans."

Harry stood very still, hands in his pockets. He mumbled a response.

"Yeah. That's what I thought," Draco said. He held out the vial towards Harry. "This will help."

Relieved he wasn't being forced to talk about the gaping hole of emptiness in his chest, or his obsession for a man who hated him, Harry breathed out and turned to the practical side of the transaction.

"So what will it do to me?"

Draco's lips curled up into a dark smile. "This," he paused slightly, "will give you the greatest pleasure you could ever have dreamt of."

Harry's eyes widened slowly. "You mean…?"

"Yes, Potter. I mean sex. Mind-altering, earth-shattering, body-on-fire sex. Because this potion will free you to be yourself – to live out your dirtiest, wildest fantasies. The things you dreamt of but never had the guts to ask for. The things you yourself didn’t even know you were dreaming of. Hours of sexual pleasure and euphoria. You will feel every sensation amplified, your entire body sensitive to the smallest touch. 

And as the other person explores your body – licking you, stroking you, ravaging you – you will feel with unwavering certainty that you are loved. Loved in a way you've never, ever felt loved before…"

Harry gazed at Draco, his throat suddenly very dry. "But… but who…"

"That's the best part," Draco smirked.

Harry held his breath.

"You don't even need to be with the other person. It’s all in your mind. The potion is designed to detect your deepest fantasies and make them come true. Whoever you desire to be with, the potion will invite into the fantasy. No one ever needs to know…"

Harry swallowed. He couldn't think straight, couldn't believe what Draco was telling him. There was a way for him to experience what it would be like to be with Snape?

"Oh, yeah, I should mention a few warnings," Draco added casually. "First of all, while all of this will happen entirely in your mind, any physical marks you get during the fantasy sex will remain on your body even after waking up from the trip."

He looked pointedly at Harry, who flushed.

"Just don't be an idiot. Wear a turtleneck under your robes to work tomorrow, or something," Draco rolled his eyes. 

"You should also only take this potion at night, alone in your own home. The force of the sensations will be such that you will be completely knocked out during the trip: you won't be able to move, call out or do anything else. Basically, this potion is designed for the bedroom – in all senses of the word."

Harry nodded, but he was too impatient to listen much to any of what Draco was saying.

"You know," Draco still held off, "this one-of-a-kind is expensive. Very expensive… It will make a significant dent in the Potter vault at Gringotts."

But Harry stuck out his hand.

His eyes burned in the darkness.

"I'll take it."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stumbled into his bedroom and sank down on the bed. Thin strips of light fell through the blinds, illuminating the little vial in his hands. His breath caught in his throat.

Everything was silent, except for the beating of his heart.

Surely it couldn't be true… But looking at the vial, hope fluttered in his chest. If there was a way of being close to Snape… even if just for one night. Even if it wouldn’t quite be real.

Harry held up the potion. Tiny flecks swirled around mysteriously in what he knew was liquid but looked almost like thin air. His thumb fingered the dark wax sealing the top… With a slight flick of his nail, the seal broke.

Reverently, Harry brought the potion to his nose. He inhaled. The scent was pleasant, stirring something in him he couldn't quite place, almost as if he'd smelled this before. But he didn't remember. He shrugged. It probably didn't matter: Draco had explained the potion was perfectly designed to recognise his heart's deepest desires and bring them to life. All he had to do now was drink.

Harry trembled in anticipation.

"Here goes…" he whispered, thoughts of the Potions Master on his mind. Tipping back his head, he put the potion to his lips.

Seconds later, Harry fell backwards onto the covers. The vial slipped from his fingers, one hand limp by his side.

Suddenly, everything was black.

*****

A heartbeat later, Harry opened his eyes. He looked around disoriented. 

He was in a low-ceilinged dungeon somewhere. Shelves lined the room, laden with vials, bottles and jars of every shape and size. They all gleamed softly in the semi-darkness, vibrating with magic. Potions ingredients, Harry instantly understood.

On the stone walls, torches flickered and cast a mesmerising glow. Harry gasped: the light coming from the fire seemed somehow more alive than any fire he'd ever seen. At the heart of the flames were sparkles he could only describe as molten gold, shifting lava-like into a greenish darkness before turning into gold again. He struggled to tear his gaze away.

Turning, he spotted several cauldrons over a low fire along one wall. Fumes swirled up from them in slow-moving, languid patterns, filling the dungeon with haze. From time to time, the fire snapped and caused the cauldrons to emit hissing noises.

The entire room was filled with shadows and a strange scent. A shiver went through Harry's body. Every single one of his senses was on edge. Alive. Eager. Waiting…

All of a sudden, a door creaked on his hinges. Harry spun around.

There, in the darkness of the dungeon, stood Severus Snape.

Their eyes locked, and Harry couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

It was perfect. 

It was the beginning of every fantasy Harry had ever had: when he was by himself and his hands roamed his body and his imagination wandered and he'd allowed himself to picture exactly what it would be like if the two of them ever were alone together, in a space where time and past events ceased to matter.

A black cloak was draped richly around Snape's shoulders. Underneath, a white shirt emphasised the man's lean frame. The top two buttons, tantalisingly undone, revealed a stretch of paleness below his collarbone. Harry allowed his eyes to glide over the triangle of skin. He wanted to trace it with his fingers, let them dip to the other buttons. Undo them, one by one. 

His eyes moved further down and he swallowed: riding low on Snape's hips were black leather trousers, clinging to his thighs and accentuating every part of the man's body. 

As if he knew exactly where Harry was looking, Snape shifted his stance ever so slightly, pushing his hips forward. The light of the torches licked over his body. A low moan escaped Harry.

Snape arched one eyebrow.

Harry's eyes travelled up again, coming to rest on the man's face. Snape met his gaze with an intensity that made Harry's heart race. The Potion Master's eyes were obsidian jewels in the dark of night, glittering but revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Please let this be real, Harry prayed to himself, please let this be nothing like our encounters in daily life.

He didn't know if he could take a rejection right now – not today, not after the encounter they'd had this morning. But he was afraid to hope for more, afraid the potion he'd drunk wouldn't suffice to erase the months during which Snape had either ignored him completely or, worse, openly hated him.

But then…

"Well, well, well…." Snape spoke. His voice was low and sultry, and a lightning bolt shoot straight to Harry's groin.

"Look who we have here…" The corner of Snape's thin lips curled up into a smirk.

Harry breathed shallowly. He didn't trust his voice to deliver a steady answer. With every fibre of his being, he was aware of the smallest movements the other man made.

"Mr Potter…" Snape's voice dropped even lower. Harry stood rooted to the spot.

With precise steps, the Potions Master stalked through the room, advancing towards Harry like a panther approaching its prey. Harry blinked rapidly.

"S.. Sn… Snape…." he stuttered.

Snape came to a halt in front of Harry. A stab of longing and desire went through the young Auror as he looked into the face he pictured on an almost daily basis. The dark locks framing the man's sharp jawline. The arrogant nose. Thin lips that could make the sanest man go mad. And the eyes. Always the eyes.

Now, they held Harry's gaze as Snape's face moved closer and closer – inching towards Harry's own –

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harry's wrist. He gasped in surprise as he felt his body pulled flush against the other man.

"Please…" Snape murmured, pressed up against Harry. His breath was hot against Harry's ear. "I insist you call me Severus."

With that, the taller wizard shoved Harry backwards, forcefully pinning him to the cold wall of the dungeon. As Harry's back hit the stones, a knee parted his legs. Snape expertly pushed his upper thigh up between Harry's thighs, grazing Harry's crotch and making him gasp from the sudden contact. 

Undetectably fast, Harry's arms were locked above his head, held sharply into place by Snape.

"What do we have here then…?" the man smirked.

Harry swallowed. "Sir?"

"Severus," the Potions Master corrected him, anger briefly crossing his features.

"Can I…" Harry asked breathlessly. He looked up at the other man, his eyes wide with hope and longing. "Can I really call you Severus?"

"I must insist," the Potions Master replied. He bent his head towards Harry, lips briefly grazing the skin of the younger man's ear. "In fact… There are quite a few things I might insist on tonight." Snape moved his leg almost imperceptibly between Harry's thighs. 

Harry pressed his eyes shut, barely managing to suppress a groan. His cock hardened against Snape's leg.

"Would you like me to touch you, Potter? Feel me pleasure you, my hands on your cock?"

Harry gulped at the Potions Master's forwardness. Unable to reply, he simply nodded.

"Perhaps my tongue… My tongue caressing your balls, slowly licking you up and down, holding off on anything more until I have you writhing against me, begging for me to take your cock into my mouth…" Snape's voice was pure sex, dripping with promise. He had Harry weak-kneed with anticipation.

Snape moved his mouth even closer to Harry's ear. Pressed against the wall, Harry felt a tongue slowly trace his earlobe.

"Shall I make you come in my mouth?" Snape whispered.

By now, Harry was rock-hard. He whimpered, closing his eyes in disbelieving desire.

"Look at me!" Snape growled. He grabbed Harry's chin roughly, tilting the younger man's head up. "Open your eyes," he commanded. Harry obeyed without question.

"That emerald green…" Snape breathed. "So beautiful." He moved his hips slightly. Harry felt a hardness pressed against his own erection. Snape was aroused!

"Severus…" he whispered breathlessly.

"Answer me." Snape never released his gaze.

Harry nodded fervently.

"Confess, Potter. You want me."

"I want you." Harry confirmed. His heart felt giddy, suddenly light. Finally, finally he was able to be honest. To tell his former Professor everything he'd wanted to tell him for years now. "I want to feel your hands on my body," he murmured. "Feel your fingers press inside me. I want to feel your mouth, your lips, your tongue on me."

Snape's eyes glittered in the darkness.

"I want to come in your mouth." Harry's voice was the only sound breaking the silence of the dungeon.

Snape's responded by crushing his mouth hard against Harry's, claiming him in a rough kiss. Harry's entire being reacted to the contact, all his senses set ablaze – the feel of the other man's lips against his surpassed his wildest fantasies. Without thinking, Harry opened for Snape, who hungrily slid his tongue in between Harry's lips, devouring his month. 

The Potions Master was an expert kisser, his tongue darting in and out of Harry's mouth with such possessiveness and skill that Harry lost himself completely in the kiss. Snape explored Harry's mouth with an almost animalistic fervour, sucking on Harry's tongue and drawing back to bite on Harry's lower lip. 

The younger man's entire body flushed with desire. If the Potions Master could elicit such reactions with his tongue alone…

Harry struggled against the grip that still pinned his hands above his head, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around Snape, cling to him and tangle his fingers through his raven-black hair. But Snape only tightened his hold on Harry's wrists. Tearing away his mouth, he growled. "No touching unless I say so, Potter."

Harry groaned in frustration, which only made Snape smirk. He claimed Harry's mouth again, deepening their kiss as he tasted and moved inside of Harry, ignoring the young Auror's obvious need.

As Snape kissed Harry, he pushed open Harry's legs and ground their erections together. Harry desperately tried to increase the friction, but each time he moved Snape pulled back in a maddening dance that almost had Harry undone. Unable to stand it, Harry broke the kiss.

With a hoarse voice and swollen lips, he looked up at Snape. "Anything. I'll do anything. Please…" 

Snape looked at him with Slytherin calculation. He started to slowly trace kisses from Harry's mouth along his jawline, up to his ear and down over his throat. 

A sudden nip against the flesh of his throat made Harry yelp. "Mark me," he breathed. 

Several emotions passed over Snape's face, his eyes darkening even further. "Mine," Snape growled and roughly turned Harry's head sidewards. He bit down on the pale side of his neck, sucking. 

Harry felt precum well up from his cock in response.

"Like that, do we?" Snape questioned teasingly.

"… Severus – want… please, more," Harry panted.

Snape emitted a throaty laugh, bending down and sucking roughly on the skin below Harry's ear. Harry felt his body bruise, but the thought that Snape was leaving a mark on him turned him on more than anything.

"So eager," Snape mocked. "Who knew noble Gryffindors would be so ready to debase themselves. You'd do anything for my touch, wouldn't you, Potter?"

"Anything," Harry panted, still pressed against the cold wall.

Snape gazed into Harry's green eyes, which shimmered with flecks of gold from the torchlight.

"Beg for it."

Harry swallowed. "Please… I need you, Severus. I want your touch. I'm begging you."

With that, Snape lowered one hand from Harry's wrists and trailed it over Harry's throat, down towards his chest. For a split second, Harry thought he would finally be free to let his arms encircle the Potions Master, but a lazily muttered "Incarcerous" from Snape chained Harry's wrists firmly to the wall in iron manacles instead. Harry's eyes widened at the wandless display of power from the wizard before him.

"Honestly, Potter," Snape looked at him from under hooded eyes, "What did you expect?"

Harry groaned but focused on Snape’s hand. As it reached his shirt buttons, a sudden whisper of air caressed Harry's chest. Looking down, Harry saw his shirt had been spelled open. The shadows in the dungeons accentuated his chest muscles, the result of years of Auror training. 

Snape's elegant fingers roamed over Harry's upper body, tangling in his chest hair. Harry's heart beat like thunder underneath the man's touch and he wondered what the older wizard must think of him: it was embarrassingly clear how hard his simple touch made Harry, how desperate Harry was for him.

When Snape's fingertips grazed a nipple, Harry gasped with pleasure. The potion had made his nipples hypersensitive. Snape took note of Harry's reaction, because he began teasing him in earnest: rubbing circles on the younger man's nipples, sucking them and pinching them in an alternation of pleasure and painful desire. 

As Harry whimpered under his touch, Snape kept looking at him – midnight black locked into viridian – the uninterrupted eye-contact somehow heightening everything and taking Harry to another level.

When Snape's hand travelled lower, trailing over Harry's stomach muscles and skimming his navel, Harry bit his lip in anticipation. Snape still held Harry's gaze. The promise in the air made Harry's cock twitch in response. "Please," he whimpered.

Snape's fingers followed the trail of hair right above Harry's trousers, fingertips teasingly tugging at the waistband. Harry could smell his own heat and desire.

The Potions Master let his hand hover just above the bulge of Harry's erection, pausing his pursuit. Harry strained against the chains holding him in place, pushing his hips forward in a desperate attempt to have the caressing continue.

But Snape shook his head, power radiating off him. "No. Touching," he warned. The man was in total control of the situation.

Harry exhaled. He was so aroused and frustrated at the same time he thought he would come from the tension alone. But he wanted to feel Snape's fingers on his cock, feel the man cupping him.

He begged Snape with his eyes.

The man drank in Harry's lust. The tip of his tongue slowly wet his lips.

Harry groaned with desire, his eyelids fluttering shut.

A brutal SLAP came out of nowhere, smacking his face so hard it was thrown to the side. An angry burn spread over Harry's cheek, stinging. His mouth open in shock, he looked back at Snape.

"Wh… why did you do that?" His voice trembled with hurt.

"I told you to look me in the eyes, Potter. I dislike having to repeat my orders," Snape spat out. The sudden anger made Harry desperate to please the man and make up for his mistake.

"I… I'm sorry. I won't do it again! I promise."

The Potions Master tugged sharply at the buttons of Harry's trousers, ripping them down in one smooth movement. Harry's cock sprang free from its confines. It was dark pink and rock hard, precum glistening on the tip.

Harry's pupils dilated. For a split second, Snape broke eye contact – his eyes flickered down to Harry's aroused cock and his breath hitched.

Slowly, he turned his face back to Harry's, whose lips were parted with desire. "Severus…" he whispered. "Take me... Make me yours."

Snape's fingers wrapped around Harry's cock.

When he took Harry in his hand, Harry mewled, no longer caring what he sounded like. The coolness of the man's fingers on his erection sent a shock of pleasure through him. His hips bucked as he thrusted forward into Snape's hand.

Roughly, Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder, pinning the younger man back against the wall with a controlling gesture.

"You will do as I say," Snape glared at him. "Restrain yourself."

Harry breathed heavily but managed to keep still. He was completely at the other man's mercy.

Snape let go of Harry's shoulder and ran his hand over the inside of Harry's thigh, his other hand stilled holding Harry's cock. Harry shivered. Snape continued stroking the younger man's inner thighs, until his fingers moved further up and cupped Harry's balls. Calloused fingers moved against the sensitive skin of Harry's sack, caressing and rolling Harry's balls in his hand. Harry thought he would explode with pleasure – his cock now leaked heavily onto Snape's fingers.

Snape brought one thumb up and ran it over the tip of Harry's cock. The touch, so intimate, short-circuited Harry's brain. His cock jumped in Snape's hands. The black-haired wizard laughed. With a swift flick of his thumb, he smeared precum over the head of Harry's cock. Harry gasped. It took all he had not to thrust up into Snape's hand again.

Then, with long, well-calculated strokes, the Potions Master began stroking Harry's erection. He looked straight at Harry with lidded eyes. 

A million different things flashed through Harry's mind as Snape fisted him – desire pent-up over months and months, strong feelings of longing, his loneliness, the sick feeling in the pool of his stomach each time he saw the Potions Master at work without being able to speak to him, reach out to him, touch him – and here he was, Snape's fingers working his cock. 

The sensation was so overwhelming Harry’s knees gave way. Only the manacles around his wrist kept him upright.

Snape moved his face inches from Harry's, who was panting rapidly. "You're a dirty slut, Potter," Snape whispered, his lips almost touching Harry's. "A dirty, little slut." He fisted Harry harder, precum slicking Harry's cock, the squelching sound evidence of the younger man's utter desire.

"Tell me," Snape murmured.

The smell of salt and sweat filled the air. "I'm a dirty little slut," Harry breathed hoarsely, seconds away from climaxing. "I'm your dirty little slut."

Excruciatingly slowly, Snape trailed the skin just below Harry's earlobe with his tongue, hand pumping Harry's cock. "Come for me, Potter," he whispered.

With that, Harry exploded into Snape's hand with a strangled cry. Hot bursts of semen spurted out over the Potions Master's fingers. Harry's entire body convulsed and shuddered, his cock throbbing in the other man's hand. It was as if his bones, his limbs, the veins inside his body had melted for the man in front of him.

"Severus…" Harry gasped weakly, looking up at the other with his heart in his eyes.

Snape gave Harry's now softening cock a few final strokes before bringing up his hand between them. His fingers were coated in pearly white seed, glistening in the darkness. He looked straight at Harry with ink-black eyes and licked his former student's cum off his fingers. As his tongue ran over his fingers, he let out an almost imperceptible, low moan.

It was the hottest thing Harry had ever seen. 

Done, Snape moved a few steps back, standing still as if to take in his work.

Harry was slumped against the wall, his arms still pinned up by heavy chains, his spent cock hanging out of his trousers. Harry's chest heaved for the man to see, his shirt torn open. A flush was on his face, offset by his messy dark hair. With wide, grateful eyes, Harry looked up at the man who had just ravished him.

Snape turned around. He strode back into the shadows, potion fumes shrouding his figure.

A sudden feeling of panic rose in Harry's chest. He cried out. "Severus! Wait! I… Don't leave!"

But in the corner, a heavy door fell shut.

The sound reverberated through the dungeon.

Harry was left slumped in his chains, alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry groaned softly as a patch of morning sunshine fell across his face. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light and pushing himself up on his elbows. Dazed, he looked around – he was lying atop the covers of his bed, still fully dressed from the night before.

The night before.

With a gasp, everything came flooding back to Harry. He sat bolt upright. Snape – he'd spent the entire night with the man he was in love with, had come in his hands! Or… had he? Harry shook his head, trying to make sense of what had happened. It had been a fantasy, a drug-induced illusion. But then why did it feel so real? Frantically, he looked around the room, searching for a sign – anything to prove last night had been real.

But his bedroom looked the same as it always had – sterile, monochrome – and the silence told him he was most definitely alone. Harry deflated. It had been the drugs. Nothing more than the drugs. The realisation stung so painfully he felt something sting behind his eyelids.

Angrily, he pushed himself off the bed. This was why he'd sworn not to take any more potions, goddammit! The escape always felt good while the high lasted, but the coming down afterwards was just too painful, the life he landed back in too empty.

Striding through the room, Harry suddenly felt his foot bump into something. Last night's potions vial. With an empty sound, it rolled away from him on the floor. Harry glared at it.

But then memories washed back over him – the maddening, heady, intoxicating arousal of last night, and he sighed.

He would never be able to quit. Not when the chemicals could bring him that…

He bent down and picked up the vial, pocketing it. At least it was some kind of keepsake from the dream he'd just awoken from.

Moving into the bathroom, Harry emptied his bladder with a distracted look on his face. He couldn't think of anything other than last night… Closing his eyes briefly, a shiver ran through him as he pictured the Potions Master's hands on him again. He turned towards the sink to brush his teeth – but as he came to face the mirror, Harry froze.

His image in the mirror had an angry, dark purple bite mark on the side of his neck, on display for all the world to see.

Incredulously, Harry brought up his hand to the mark. Draco's words came back to him. "Any physical marks you get during the fantasy sex will remain on your body even after waking up from the trip." Harry softly fingered the bruise, wincing at the pressure. He wasn’t imagining this mark. As he leaned into the mirror and tugged at his shirt collar to get a better look, Harry caught sight of his wrists.

Red streaks crisscrossed the pale inside of both wrists, as if he'd been struggling against something.

A smile spread over his face.

There was nothing imaginary about any of this! Last night had happened. It had happened and it had been real: he'd been with Snape – Severus! – who'd touched him (he shivered again at the mere thought) and stroked him, kissed him hungrily and brought him to climax. Harry let out a sigh of blissful pleasure, looking down at his wrists once more. He'd never, not in a million years imagined it would have been this good.

Harry happily ran a hand through his hair, trying but failing to make its perpetual messiness look more presentable. He grabbed his wand from his back pocket and pointed it at his wrists and neck, casting a quick glamour. No one would see the marks left on his body, but Harry would carry them throughout the day as a secret reminder of the night.

Grabbing his briefcase, not even bothering with coffee, he walked over to his fireplace. Taking a pinch of Floo powder from the elegant bowl on the mantle, he stepped into the flames with a cheerful "Atrium, Ministry of Magic" and was whisked off.

*****

"Harry? Hellooooo? Anybody there?" Ron waved his hand in front of Harry, who instantly snapped out of his reverie.

"Huh? What?"

Ron shook his head. "Blimey mate, what's gotten into you? You've been out of it all day!"

Harry gave his friend a sheepish smile, shrugging apologetically. "Dunno, must've… not slept well last night or something. Sorry, where were we again?"

Ron bent back over the notes in front of them. The two Aurors sat in faded armchairs in the corner of Harry's office, going over their latest case.

"As I just said, we've managed to trace down the Warlock seen at the scene of the blast, but we're still trying to undo the Tongue-tying curse he's put upon himself to get out of answering our questions. As for the damage to the wards…"

Harry's eyes glazed over again and he softly rubbed the side of his neck with one hand.

Scenes from last night flooded through his mind once more – the silken voice whispering into his ear, asking him where he wanted to be touched, the elegant fingers fondling his balls. Just thinking about it made Harry hard.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat to hide his reaction, trying to bring his attention back to what Ron was saying. It had been the same all day: he hadn't been able to think of anything else but Snape, couldn't stifle the sudden fragile flame of hope that had flickered up in his chest.

"… so once the interview is concluded, we'll summarise our findings in a report and the Unspeakables should be able to take over." Ron looked up at Harry, clearly expected him to react.

Harry coughed. "Ahem. Yes, err, I agree, sounds like a good course of action to me too. Great work, Ron. We should have this wrapped up in no time."

Ron gave Harry a brief look but shrugged, used to Harry being tired and stressed. "Well mate," he clapped his hands on his knees, "I'm off. Got a meeting with Travers to discuss those new procedural rules Shacklebolt wants to impose on all departments…" He looked like he had to go collect Bubotuber pus.

"Ouch," Harry winced in sympathy, "Good luck on that one." Secretly, he couldn’t wait for Ron to leave his office, so he could be left to his own thoughts again.

"Oh," Ron added, "That reminds me: Dad pulled up a copy of those Magical Artifact Registration records you needed for the Vanishing case, they're on my desk. Grey file, I put a Stick-charm note on it with your name on it. You can just pick them up if you want to."

"Ah, yes!" For once, Harry inwardly cursed how helpful his friend was. "Thanks. I'll go get them at once."

"No problem," Ron said as he headed out of Harry's office with a wave in goodbye.

Sighing, Harry got up and followed. He really did need those records – sex fantasies or not, McNalley would make his life very unpleasant indeed if he didn't get the case solved soon.

Rounding one of the corners in the third-floor hallway a few minutes later, the file under his arm, Harry suddenly froze. At the end of the hallway, Snape was stalking out of the office of the deputy head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, a see-through bag of potions evidence in his hand. Harry's stomach flipped with nervous longing. He knew Snape regularly assisted other departments with their investigations, but he so rarely came across the man at work.

Watching as Snape impatiently slapped his hand on the lift button and tapped his foot while waiting, Harry forced himself not to call out the man's name and rush over. Instead, he softly murmured "Severus", tasting the name on his lips and remembering the permission he'd been given to use it last night.

Harry's heart beat like a hammer as Snape disappeared into the lift with a swirl of black robes, unaware of Harry watching him at the far end of the corridor.

Everything about the man's movements had been so very… Snape-like, as always. Yet a part of Harry felt something had changed. As if the fist that had held an iron grip on his heart for years had loosened, and the impossibility of ever being with Snape suddenly seemed less impossible.

For the umpteenth time that day, Harry absentmindedly fingered the bruise on his neck. It was proof. It had to be proof – he'd witnessed it himself, hadn't he? The Potions Master had willingly touched Harry the night before, with a passion Harry never could have imagined – and he'd heard the moan the man himself had made as he tasted Harry afterwards…

Even though he knew all of it had been triggered by a potion, the boundary between reality and dreams had dissolved when he'd found the marks on his skin. Harry could no longer believe the Potions Master was truly out of his reach. Perhaps some kind of closeness between them was possible after all?

As Harry walked back to his office, he felt like he'd stepped into a warm home in the midst of winter.

****

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Harry sat behind his desk but was unable to focus, a look of wonder on his face. As the light outside his office window (charmed to look out onto a busy London thoroughfare) faded to evening, he raked his hand through his hair and decided to call it a day.

He winced at the thought of having to return to his apartment that night: after his time with Snape, pacing between its sterile walls on his own would be even more of a torture than usual.

As he pulled on his outer robes and walked towards the fireplace, he noticed something shift in his trouser pocket. Feeling, he pulled out the vial he'd picked up off the floor that morning. Harry looked at it with renewed respect. To think that a single potion could have given him so much! In hindsight, the amount of Galleons he'd paid Draco for it seemed almost laughable. With a stab of regret, he recalled how the blond had mentioned the potion was a one-off, "just a bit of fun my supplier had" he'd said. Hungrily, Harry held the potion up to the light of the flames. If only…

Then he gasped: the vial wasn't entirely empty. Tilting it to the side, Harry noticed there were a few drops left. He could have whooped with joy! Everything ceased to matter – all he could think about was being with the Potions Master again.

Desire shot through Harry's body: he wanted more. Wanted the man to touch him again, feel the heat of his body pinning him down, their erections pressed together. Perhaps he would not be tied up this time, be allowed to touch the other in return? What he wouldn't give to see Snape's body, let his hands glide over him, taste him – offer himself up and feel Snape's cock enter him. Harry moaned at the mere thought.

Unable to wait, he shoved his hand into the Floo box while bringing the vial up to his lips. The leftover drops of potion hit his tongue just as he said "Harry Potter's fl…."

With a shattering of glass, the vial broke into a million pieces.

Harry Potter's limp form sagged down on the hearth stones.

Unconscious, the young Auror slipped away into the sequel of his fantasy.

Unused Floo powder laced his fingers.


	7. Chapter 7

The smell of cigarette smoke filled Harry's nostrils. He jerked his head up.

Leaning against one of the shelves of potions ingredients stood Severus Snape. He lazily held a cigarette between his index and middle finger. Smoke drifted from it in slow, hypnotising patterns that Harry struggled to look away from.

"Back so soon, Potter?"

Harry's eyes snapped up to Snape's. The man looked at him with an unreadable expression, one arm folded loosely over his stomach. The other jutted out from his side at the elbow, holding up the cigarette.

His eyes were two glittering beads.

"Sir… Severus!" Harry instantly corrected himself. He was overjoyed to see the man again. He hadn't known how much the few remaining drops of potion would give him.

It was only then that he noticed he was still chained to the dungeon wall, left in the exact same position as when he last woke up from the trip. He shivered, his shirt still hanging open.

"Good to see you've at least made some progress since your school days, Mr Potter – you now manage to follow the simplest of instructions. How fortifying," Snape drawled.

Harry flushed. The taunt wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for, slipping into the fantasy again, but he was here – with Snape. Alone. And that was more than enough for Harry.

"I'll… do anything you say, Sir," he said bravely.

"Is that so?" Snape cocked his eyebrow, his eyes coming to rest on Harry's groin.

Harry looked down himself and gulped: his cock was still hanging out of his trousers, embarrassingly small in the dungeon chill.

Snape smirked. "Hero of the Wizarding World… Wet dream of witches across Britain… Witch Weekly's Catch of the Year."

Harry turned a deeper shade of red. He hated those articles, acutely uncomfortable at the way total strangers would send him inappropriate fan mail, throw themselves at him whenever he was out undisguised in Diagon Alley. Not that he was out much these days anymore…

"Strange, isn't it?" Snape continued.

"Strange?" Harry asked, hoping for a change of subject.

"To be left by your own wife, then."

Harry's mouth went completely dry. The reminder of Ginny leaving him, and the months of desperate loneliness afterwards, were as if Snape had spat him in the face.

"But then again," Snape continued as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary, "perhaps not so strange after all, considering…" He looked pointedly at Harry's shrunken penis.

Frustrated, embarrassed tears filled Harry's eyes.

Snape brought his cigarette to his lips, smiling deadly. "Oh my, are we crying now?" He took a drag. The end of the cigarette glowed like embers in the dark.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to will away the tears. "Severus…" he pleaded softly, refusing to give up the hope the Potions Master had ignited in him the day before.

Snape cocked his head, considering Harry for a moment. Did his expression soften?

He took another drag of the cigarette, then carefully stepped over to Harry. The younger man's heart rate sped up.

Snape stopped right in front of Harry, who drowned in the man's features. His poise and predatory grace, the sleekness of his hair, his nose. Sharp features that always carried an edge – of unavailability, of annoyance. They always made Harry feel rejected – and incredibly turned on.

Almost as if Snape could read his thoughts, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "Did your ex-wife know you were lying next to her in bed thinking of me?"

Harry winced, but held Severus gaze.

"Did she know you touched yourself late at night, my name on your lips?" the Potions Master continued. "That you dreamt of being on your knees in front of me, taking me in your mouth?"

The voice was hazy and dark, and Harry felt himself harden as Snape described his fantasies. He'd had these thoughts – every single one of them, so often. For years, he hadn't dared put a name on them. But they were true.

Snape moved closer to Harry and let a single finger trail Harry's jawline. His touch was infinitely precise, and Harry's body reacted like fire.

"Did you ever tell her you fantasised about my body on top of yours, holding you down?"

"Oh god…" Harry breathed, feeling the chains cut into his wrists.

Snape brought his cigarette back to his lips, the red end of it lighting up in the darkness between them. "When you were in bed with her, did she know all you wanted – " he blew out the smoke at Harry "- was to be fucked by me?"

Harry moaned.

Snape laughed darkly – then suddenly pushed the lit end of his cigarette against Harry's bare chest, right above his nipple. Harry yelped in pain, his pupils widening. While Snape caught his look of fear, he didn't react, only staring darkly into Harry's eyes.

"What is it, Potter? I seem to remember you saying you'd do anything for me…"

Harry still gasped from the sting of the cigarette burn, but it was swiftly fading.

"I… I would. Severus – I want to be with you."

"Prove it then," Snape challenged him. His voice dripped with Slytherin disdain… and suggestion. "If you'd like to be with me."

Harry swallowed. He was scared. But Snape's mouth was so close to his, he so badly wanted those thin lips to kiss his again…

"Anything."

With that, Snape pressed his burning cigarette against Harry's chest. Once. Twice. Three times.

Harry gritted his teeth in pain, eyes watering. Angry blisters appeared on his skin and his entire body tensed at the burning. But he didn't ask Snape to stop, didn't leave his gaze.

"It seems you've proven yourself, Potter…" Snape murmured, drawing closer to Harry.

Harry felt faint with relief and pain, opening his mouth slightly to receive the kiss.

The Potions Master's lips were almost on Harry's.

"But a few drops of potion only last so long. Time's up."


	8. Chapter 8

The next thing he knew, shrill shrieking pierced Harry's eardrums.

"Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygooooooood!"

Harry pressed his hands over his ears, only half-awake. What in the name of Merlin was going on? He blinked and struggled to sit upright, tried to find his bearings. Why were people screaming in his bedroom? Then it dawned on Harry. He wasn't in his bedroom at all: a quick glance around revealed he was still in his office and, strangely enough, wearing his outer robes. Why would he be wearing his outer robes in -

FUCK.

The last of the potion.

He never made it home! Aghast, a wave of panic washed over Harry: he'd taken an illegal drug. At work. Merlin help him. Luckily, his Auror training kicked in and he was able to school his features into a look of confused innocence.

"Charisse!" he shouted, focusing on his secretary in front of him, who was still screaming with a look of horror on her face.

"They tried to kill him, oh god, they tried to kill him!" the woman wailed.

"Charisse!" Harry tried again, scrambling up now and grabbing his secretary by the shoulders. "I'm FINE!"

But Charisse Coote just shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. "Oh Mr Potter," she wailed dramatically. "What did they do to you?"

Harry didn't understand what the woman was on about. He looked around his office, not noticing anything out of the ordinary – until he spotted the glass shards scattered in front of the fireplace. Still, that didn't seem cause for such a dramatic display of emotions. He looked up at the woman in front of him, confused. "Charisse, I swear, I'm fine! There's no need to get so worked up, please – calm down!"

"No need to get worked up?" Charisse's eyes bulged out of their sockets. "Have you seen yourself, Mr Potter?"

Now Harry himself was starting to worry. What was his secretary on about? He stepped over to the full-length mirror by the robe rack near the door, and started. "Sweet Merlin…" he whispered.

His outer robes were hanging open lopsidedly to reveal his shirt underneath was torn open. A few leftover buttons dangled from loose threads. His glamour must have slipped while he was unconscious, because the purple bruise on his neck was now clearly visible – already turning a sickly shade of green-orange. Underneath it, he could very clearly see several blistering burns where Snape had pressed his cigarette against Harry's chest. 

Harry paled. To anyone else, it would look like an angry Norwegian Ridgeback had attacked him – or a deranged Azkaban escapee.

He spun around to Charisse, his mind working fervently. This could not get out, no one could find out about this.

"Erm, Charisse, I agree it looks bad, but… I just – slipped, yesterday, as I was leaving work. Low blood pressure or something, I guess. No need to worry! This happens all the time. Must have… caught my robes on something as I fell and hit the stones a little too hard…"

His secretary looked at him with eyes filled with worry and, disturbingly, reassurance.

"Oh Mr Potter!" she wiped away a tear. "Don't worry – I already sent a flutter-memo to alert Head Auror McNalley! He should be able to help. I got _such_ a fright when I saw you lying there, it was the first thing I did!" she breathed.

Harry's blood froze. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

McNalley was one of the most active participants in the Ministry's ongoing crackdown against illegal potions, and very vocal on the subject.

"You briefed me yourself when I first started working for you, Mr Potter, you mentioned how there are still…" She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper "Death Eaters on the loose looking to harm you! Your warning came back to me this morning when I saw the state you were in and I called Mr McNalley to make sure you'd be safe!"

Harry didn't know who he wanted to throttle more, himself for having been so stupid or his secretary for… for doing her job, he had to admit. He cursed himself internally, knowing full well he only had himself to blame. Panic threatened to overwhelm him once more and he struggled to retain calm. He needed a plan, and he needed it _now_.

Before he had the time to think, however, he heard swift footsteps in the hallway. Harry's heart froze. This was it.

With a loud bang, the door flew open and McNalley strode in – flanked by Updyke and Wallis, two of Harry's colleagues. "Auror Potter!" McNalley barked. "What in the world has happened?"

With an odd look of worry and anger, McNalley snapped his fingers at the men who'd followed him into the office. "Secure the evidence," he ordered. The Aurors rushed towards the fireplace. McNalley briefly nodded towards Harry's secretary. "Thanks for alerting me, Ms Coote." The woman tittered, clearly pleased to suddenly have become a key player in a major incident.

McNalley strode towards Harry, who unthinkingly backed away from his boss.

"Mr Potter, what has happened here?" McNalley pierced Harry with an intent stare. Harry swallowed, reminding himself McNalley had become Head Auror for a good reason.

"Sir," he smiled as confidently as possible, trying to buy a few more seconds to come up with an explanation. "I can't be a hundred percent sure, but I'm guessing I must have fainted yesterday evening right before heading home. Long day at the office – " McNally glared at that, and Harry berated himself for unthinkingly insinuating his workload was to blame for his current state (although it wasn't a far stretch, he thought bitterly.) "I sometimes suffer from… low blood pressure, and I'm thinking that's what must have happened. Probably stumbled and caught my robes on something as I fell," he repeated the lie he'd told Charisse.

McNalley's eyes narrowed as they travelled over Harry. "Caught your robes on something," he repeated suspiciously. Harry broke out in a sweat. He should've come up with a better explanation, there was no way he would be able to fool his boss. Still, he had to try.

"Yes, Sir. I know it looks much worse than that, but I bruise easily. Happens all the time. Regularly ended up in the infirmary because of it during my Hogwarts Quidditch days. Never seen anything like it, they said." Harry chuckled weakly, but McNalley was only half listening to his excuses: instead, his sharp eyes took in the rest of the room. Harry shifted nervously.

"The glass?"

"Oh, the glass, yes," Harry vacillated. "Just a… Pepper-Up potion I took. Didn't have lunch yesterday and felt a bit woozy as I was about the Floo home. It must have slipped from my hands just as I was about to leave. Explains the burns on my chest as well, Sir, a reaction from ingesting the Pepper-Up too quickly, I wager."

At that point, Updyke walked over to their boss. He gave Harry a concerned look. "Alright there, Potter?" Harry nodded weakly, unable to respond.

"Sir," Updyke continued, "I just noticed something odd. The broken vial doesn’t appear to have been labelled. We've found no traces of liquid on the floor, so it'll be difficult to analyse which vendor the Pepper-Up was sold by, but there still should have been a label."

Harry swayed on his feet.

McNalley looked back at him. "Mr Potter, I understand you believe you fainted, but you must understand we have cause for greater suspicion and caution in your 'situation' than we otherwise would have," McNalley said curtly, annoyed by the reminder of Harry's celebrity status and the trouble this created for him as an employer.

Harry nodded weakly.

"Do you remember anything more from last night? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, Sir. I wish I did, I truly do, but everything's a bit hazy. I honestly think I must have fainted – the fall probably caused some minor memory loss." Harry tried his best to look as confused and innocent as possible.

"Sir," the other Auror, Wallis, interrupted. "What if it was something more sinister, though? The Incoming Threats Unit recently reported a rise in death threats directed to members of the corps, including Auror Potter in particular. If Potter doesn't remember exactly what happened, it's our duty to investigate this as thoroughly as possible. What if an outsider tampered with the Pepper-Up, or replaced it with something more dangerous?"

Everyone in the room looked at the marks on Harry's neck and chest. Harry's secretary clapped her hand over her mouth in fear.

"This is the safety of one of our own we're talking about," Wallis reminded them.

Harry could have screamed in frustration. For once, he wished Aurors weren't trained to second-guess everything.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, though, Mr McNalley," Harry smoothed. "I mean, you sent out that memo recently about the corps' finances being rather strained. I wouldn't want you to prioritise this minor incident under these circumstances. I'd feel bad causing extra work for you an the team, Sir…"

McNalley frowned at Harry. Potter had never been one to prefer quick solves, always stubbornly insisting on analysing every last shred of evidence in a case. On several occasions, that insistence had allowed his young employee to solve cases he himself had classified as permanently unsolvable. It still irked him that Potter had managed to do so. So why was the man suggesting an easier course of action this time?

A sneaking suspicion dawned on McNalley. If this was genuinely about a threat to Potter's life, the blame would fall squarely on him if something more happened to his employee and the public found out he'd failed to take this incident seriously. Was Potter trying to make him look bad?

Furious at the thought, McNalley cut Harry off and turned towards Wallis. 

"You're absolutely right, Wallis. We should get to the bottom of this. But it remains a fact that the corps is understaffed and underfunded at the moment. We'll transfer the case to the MLE's Potions Investigation Unit. Severus Snape's expertise was very useful in helping us trace that batch of unregistered Polyjuice last month. I'm sure he'll figure out in no time who was behind this and what their motives were."

Harry stared at his boss in horror.

"Auror Potter, I'll alert the Potions Investigation Unit straight away and ask Mr Snape to find some time in his schedule for an initial meeting with you this afternoon. His assistants will send you a flutter-memo with the details. I suggest you start by putting a stasis charm on that shirt of yours and send it to the PIU's lab to aid his investigation." 

He eyed Harry with a final look of distaste. "And do rub some healing ointment into those marks, they look rather… unsavoury."

With that, McNalley gave Harry a curt nod and swept from his office, followed by the two other Aurors.

Harry thought he would throw up.

One thing was for sure: he was done for.


	9. Chapter 9

It was late afternoon. Harry walked through a passageway deep in the bowels of the Ministry. His heart fluttered in his chest and a cold sweat crept up his back. He couldn't tell whether it was because of the chill that seemed to hang in the corridors here, or because he was more nervous than he could remember being in his life.

In his hand, he clutched the flutter-memo that had been delivered to his office after lunch. It had simply spelled out when and where to report to Snape.

It would be the first time Harry would be completely alone with Snape since… well, since Hogwarts, Harry supposed. After the trial, he'd seen the man from a distance at work semi-regularly, and there'd been the fated morning when he'd bumped into Snape in the Atrium. But other than that, there had been no contact between them.

Harry's insides clenched thinking about facing the man now. He couldn't work out whether what he felt was blind terror or a kind of sick hope.

The terror Harry could understand: while the investigation was supposed to be for his own safety's sake, he was acutely aware of the risk of the Ministry finding out he had purchased an illegal drug – an offence that carried a multi-year sentence in Azkaban and a lifelong ban on working in any magic-related field. If they discovered what he'd done, his life in the wizarding world would be over. Harry was strangled by nausea and fear at the mere thought.

On top of that was the fact that Snape had made it excruciatingly clear he detested Harry and wanted nothing to do with him. He treated Harry as if he was some kind of flobberworm unworthy of existing.

Harry groaned. 

But he couldn't shake off the hope, which had him puzzled. He knew he shouldn't expect anything but disaster from the investigation. But he kept seeing glimpses of the fantasies he'd shared with Snape. Fantasies so incredibly alive with pleasure and intimacy and sheer desire that Harry's senses almost short-circuited just thinking about them.

Surely a simple potion couldn't be responsible for such an intense experience? There had to be something more to it, Harry told himself as he reached the end of the corridor.

For it to be so strong, the potion had to somehow be moored in reality – which had to mean Snape was capable of acting towards Harry with feelings other than disgust and hatred.

Trembling, Harry came to a halt. The door in front of him had Snape's professional title inscribed on a slate of copper. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brought up his hand to knock.

"Enter!" a voice barked.

As Harry shuffled into the room, he gasped: it was the exact same room as the one he'd seen the first night he took the potion! Before he had time to consider what this meant, a dark figure emerged out of nowhere in a swirl of robes.

"Potter." Snape's voice was filled with such menace as he loomed over Harry, that the young Auror instantly shrank bank. He gulped as he stared at the face in front of him. Waves of angry magic practically crackled off Snape. The shadows in the dungeon accentuated his nose, making it look more hawkish than ever, and his eyes flashed like daggers.

Harry was terrified – and mesmerised by the deadly beauty of the man's features.

"Sir – " he began, determined to explain or at least start a conversation, anything to forge a kind of connection with the Potions Master. But Snape cut him off straight away.

"I am a busy man, Mr Potter," Snape spat out. "I do not take kindly to being ordered to clear my schedule for what sounded like you deciding to take a nap on the floor of your office last night. And now, because of your penchant for laziness during working hours, I have been forced to conduct this investigation to safeguard your precious wellbeing, as if I hadn't already wasted hours of my life doing precisely that. 

As it stands, I cannot think of a single task less gratifying than the one that has currently been bestowed upon me. So may I suggest we perform this tiresome investigation as swiftly as possible, so I do not have to endure more of your company than absolutely necessary."

At Snape's snarled words, Harry felt his stomach sink. Suddenly, the hope that had flickered in him earlier seemed laughable.

"Y-yes, Sir – " he began to stammer miserably.

"Do cease your blithering, Mr Potter," Snape cut him off, "or I will be forced to conclude you are not just lazy but also illiterate and failed to grasp the meaning of the word 'swift' with which I described my hopes for the coming hour."

Harry snapped his mouth shut, if only to stop his bottom lip from trembling.

With another glare, Snape stalked towards two armchairs in the corner of the room, clearly meant for receiving visitors. Harry assumed the Ministry's elves had arranged the furniture, as he couldn't imagine Snape willingly decorating his lab in a way that would encourage human interaction. He hesitantly sat down across from Snape, who pulled up a writing pad with a form clipped to it. "Potions Investigations Unit" was stamped across the top.

Snape read aloud in a monotonous voice, quill in hand. "Question one: Which potion(s) was/were ingested during the incident?"

Harry breathed in deeply. "I grabbed a Pepper-Up potion, Sir."

Snape made a note on the form. "Question two: For what reason was/were this/these particular potion(s) ingested?"

"I hadn't eaten lunch and had a… a rough day, so I felt a little low on blood sugar just before I headed home," Harry lied.

The scratching of Snape's quill was the only sound in the dungeon. Harry looked down at his knees.

"Question three: What effects did the ingested potion(s) cause?"

"None, Sir," Harry supplied. "I believe I fainted right before I was able to ingest any of it at all. That’s how I tore my robes and got the marks mentioned in Mr McNalley's report. I must have caught on something as I fell over, I think, and the potion must have slipped from my hand."

Suddenly, the quill stopped scratching. The room was completely silent.

Slowly, Snape raised his head. He narrowed his eyes.

It was as if time stood still and Harry felt his fate shift.

"You're lying," Snape said.

It was a statement, not a question, and there was something in the Potion Master's voice that made Harry's blood run cold.

"I'm not lying, Sir! I swear! That's exactly what I think happened." The second the words burst from his mouth, Harry realised how feeble they sounded.

It was the sudden cold smile on Snape's face that made Harry break out in a sweat for real. Snape never smiled.

The man leaned closer to Harry. "Tell me the truth," he said.

"That… that was the truth…" Harry tried a final time.

Like a cobra uncoiling, Snape surged to his feet and swooped down on Harry. He pinned the younger man's underarms to his chair, bringing his face close to Harry's. "Don't. Lie. To. Me," the Potions Master hissed.

Terrified, Harry tried to disappear into the back of his chair, but the dark-haired wizard held him locked in his grip.

"You know there is no escaping the questions I ask, Potter," Snape said. "You more than anyone should know that…"

Horror surged through Harry as he realised what the man was about to do.

"No!" he shouted, "You can't!"

Snape just laughed darkly.

"Watch me. Legilimens!"


	10. Chapter 10

Instantly, Harry felt a foreign presence invade his mind, like fingers crawling up under his shirt uninvited. 

He panicked for a second, images ripped to the forefront of his thoughts – his empty apartment, Ginny in bed with someone else, the press camping outside his door after the breakup, Draco's hand stroking his – but then he tore his consciousness free from the intrusion, slamming shields into place to protect himself.

In the distance, Harry heard Snape snarl.

He gritted his teeth, determined. Snape was one of the most powerful Legilimens alive today, but after the war Harry had started seeing the necessity of mastering Occlumency and had applied himself to its study. He would never be nearly as good as the other man, but he'd be damned if he ever let someone just grab his secrets away from him again.

But Snape sensed Harry's efforts, and redoubled his own. Harry gripped the armrests of his chair until his knuckles were white.

More thoughts were dragged from him and Harry started to panic – nights alone in London bars, Draco moaning underneath him in bed, Harry struggling through a courtroom to catch up with Snape, colleagues staring at him as he watched Snape retreat from the Atrium – the thoughts came faster now, his shields were slipping, he could mentally feel Snape's smirk – Draco Apparating into the alley behind Harry's building, a vial in Harry's hand, torches flickering in a dungeon, a surge of arousal –

NO! 

Harry almost screamed the word out loud, clutching at the shreds of his shield – Snape was about to rape Harry's mind and Harry was helpless to stop it, helpless to prevent his former teacher from taking whatever he wanted –

Horrified, Harry realised there was nothing he could do: he would have to give in. So he did. He withdrew all his shields and yielded completely to Snape, offered him everything. Everything, except for one small detail he clung to to maintain his sanity: the identity of the object of his dreams.

With a low laugh, Snape penetrated into the deepest recesses of Harry's mind. 

Instantly, Harry felt the Potions Master graze over Harry's drug-fuelled fantasies – Harry backed against the door, arms chained, shirt open, Harry's cock hard and dripping, his voice begging for touch, any touch, a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking, stroking, a blinding surge of pleasure splitting his head, the smell of male desire as a moan reverberated through a dungeon –

Still, Snape's mind probed for more, probed to see the face of the man who had Harry's semen on his hands. Harry felt Snape almost physically claw at his memories, but he didn't let go. 

He would never let go: if he surrendered that face to the man now sitting in front of him, he knew what the reaction would be – and he would never again be able to feel any hope for a different kind of future… for the relationship he so desperately wanted.

With the last Occlumency power in him, Harry prevented Snape from seeing his own face.

Seconds later, Snape pulled out and Harry was left reeling. Catching his breath and doubled over, he looked up at the man in front of him. He felt horribly betrayed and naked.

"Well, well, well…" Snape's eyes glittered darkly. "How… interesting, Potter. Who would have thought the Hero of the Wizarding World could be so turned on by being debauched."

"Fuck you," Harry panted.

But Snape just smirked. "I don't think so, Potter. At least, it looks like someone else here was being fucked… And enjoying it, by the sound of it."

Snape paused for a second, then reached for his clipboard. "Let's… expand the investigation a bit, shall we?"

Harry flew up in rage. "Don't you dare! You know this isn't part of the official investigation, you should never even have – "

"Quiet, Potter!" Snape spat out. "Need I remind you of the fact that you just lied to both your superior and the Potions Investigation's Unit lead investigator about a matter that is looking more and more suspicious with every passing second? I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do exactly as I say. The answer to the first question, about which potion you abused, will no doubt become clear soon enough as the lab analyses the vial's remains."

Snape lips curled up into a malicious smile. "So why not refocus on question three: 'What effects did the ingested potion(s) cause?' Tell me the truth – it is my duty to record your answers."

Harry gritted his teeth, glaring at Snape. The man had seen so much already, he hardly needed to ask for more details.

But a strange sensation tugged at Harry's stomach at the way Snape ordered him to recount his fantasies.

"The potion caused certain… illusions," he swallowed, sitting back down.

Snape cocked a single eyebrow.

"It… it heightened my senses," Harry continued. "Everything I saw or heard or… or felt, it was all so much stronger than in real life. Like my entire body was on fire." He flushed at the implication of what he was saying.

"Like your body was on fire. What happened to your body to set it on fire?" Snape's eyes revealed nothing as he directed the question at Harry.

The younger man stared at the ground between their feet, desperately trying to avoid looking at the Potion Master.

"Answer me!" Snape barked.

Harry jumped. He fixed his eyes on a shelf behind Snape, his voice slightly unsteady. "The illusions were… of a sexual nature." He chanced a quick glance at Snape, instantly looking away again. The man was watching Harry so intently, he felt his body react. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this.

"I… was being pleasured in the illusion," he said quietly.

"By whom?"

Harry tried to make his expression as blank as possible as he replied. "I don't know. An anonymous man."

Snape's eyes bore into Harry. _Please let him not ask, please let him not try to read my mind again_ , Harry prayed.

"How did you feel when he pleasured you?"

Harry let out a breath of relief, unable to stop himself. "Incredible." He instantly bit his tongue.

"What part of it was incredible?"

"All of it."

"Describe it to me."

Harry's face snapped up to Snape – did the man's voice just dip lower? But the Potions Master's expression was unreadable.

Harry bit his bottom lip. "It was the way he stood so close to me. The way I could feel his – heat through his robes. His lips grazed my skin and… I hardened at the feel of them. He started licking me…" Harry felt the memory alive again in every single fibre of his body. "He teased me, let his fingers run over my chest, my nipples. When he pinched them, I thought I would faint. All I wanted was to be with him, wanted his touch everywhere."

Snape's dark features as he sat listening to Harry made Harry subconsciously lick his lips.

"Then he kissed me. And my brain just… melted. His tongue in my mouth, so rough – like he was claiming me, like he owned me."

"You wanted him to own you?"

"Yes," Harry breathed. He felt his arousal grow in his trousers. "Yes. I... My cock got hard just thinking about it. I wanted him to take me. Force himself upon me."

Harry shifted. His mind was trying to keep up with what was happening – the dual realities of talking about a memory and reliving it at the same time, fantasising about the man he was madly attracted to and simultaneously having him sit in front of him. It made his mind spin, but something in the situation also made Harry ache with lust.

"Do you get aroused when men force themselves upon you?" Snape enunciated each syllable of the question with such precision Harry felt precum well up from his cock.

"I, uh… I…" he stammered. With Draco, Harry had always topped. They'd never done it any other way. But the drug had detected a hidden desire in him.

Snape shifted closer to Harry, whose breathing became shallow. Every one of his senses was attuned to the other man's slightest movements.

"Do you come for them, like a dirty whore?"

The crude words sent shockwaves through Harry's body. He squeezed his eyes shut. Snape's voice made him so horny he had to physically stop himself from dropping to his knees and begging to suck the Potion Master's cock. 

He opened his eyes again, forcibly reminding himself of the reality he was in – which was an official investigation. With a man he knew to be very, very dangerous.

"I… came for him. He stroked me and… it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. Being at his mercy. I… I came all over his hands."

"Then what?"

An involuntary moan escaped Harry. "He licked my cum off his hands…" The memory flashed before his eyes, Snape's mouth slowly sucking on fingers slick with Harry's seed.

"Does the memory make you hard?" Snape's voice was a dark, rich velvet – Harry's cock screamed for release.

"Does it make you want to be fucked by… him?"

Somehow, Snape's voice was right by his ear now – Harry kept his eyes closed, barely able to breathe. He nodded.

"Do you want him…" a hand grabbed his jaw "…to love you?" A tongue slowly licked along his jawline to the corner of his mouth.

Lightning burst through Harry - his mouth opened in a silent shout as orgasm ripped through him, wetness staining the front of his trousers. His entire body convulsed.

A split second later, Harry sprang up and rushed for the door. With a bang, he threw it open and ran.

Only when Harry had reached his own office, heart hammering in his chest, did it hit him: Snape's quill had lain unused throughout the interview's entire second half.

The man had played with him like a cat with a mouse.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry sat perched on one of the bar stools in his kitchen. He was alone in his flat, the lights of London far below casting a dim glow in the sky. The buzzing of the refrigerator was nothing compared to the chaos in Harry's mind. 

After what had happened in Snape's dungeon, he'd hidden out in his office for the rest of the day, even turning Ron away when his friend had sent a flutter-memo to ask if he wanted to grab some coffee in the Atrium café. 

When it was finally time to head home, Harry had forgotten to throw Floo powder into the network's flames and nearly burnt himself as he stepped forward.

Dishevelled, he'd stumbled into his home. Its desperate silence had hit him like a wall, only amplifying his thoughts.

Staring at the glass of Firewhiskey in front of him, he tried to pull himself together.

He'd been over the afternoon's events a million times, but still couldn't piece them together. Embarrassment, terror, longing, confusion and dread tugged at him. And… hope. Again. He scowled at himself. How on earth could he still feel hope! The Potions Master had been playing with him, that much was clear.

But then… why had the man talked to him the way he did, so silkily, and shifted closer to him and… Harry's pupils dilated again at the memory. Had he really felt Snape's tongue lick at him just hours ago? He could hardly believe it – something soared in his chest just thinking about it, about the blurring boundaries of reality and fantasy.

But terror washed over Harry again and quashed his hope. Snape was still the lead investigative expert of his unit – he would never let this go. It was _his job_ not to let matters like this slide. And Snape's brutal Legilimency scan had probably made it more than clear for him that the effects he was investigating bore very little resemblance to the usual effects of a Pepper-Up Potion.

Harry's blood slowed in his veins. He didn't dare think about the official punishment for illegal drug use. The few times he'd been to Azkaban, he'd almost thrown up on the spot, overcome with the misery and hopelessness of the place. He couldn't end up there.

Harry pushed the possibility away, and downed his Firewhiskey for the night.

With a groan, he got up and walked to the bathroom. Stripping off his jumper and trousers, he looked down at the dried-up stain on the front of his boxers. _Ugh_ , he cringed in embarrassment. At least that was one feeling he could easily deal with, he supposed as he stepped into the shower.

****

When Harry walked into his office the next morning, he felt anything but well-rested.

He'd spent the entire night like a captive in the dark. Each time he'd tried to fall asleep, obsidian eyes and a thin-lipped smile had haunted him. He'd dreamt feverish dreams of whispered words he couldn't make out and had woken covered in sweat.

On his way in, he gave a curt nod to Ms Coote, whose face revealed her eagerness for more details about yesterday's events. Avoiding all conversation, Harry quickly closed the door and turned towards his desk. His stomach sank.

Sitting among stained coffee mugs and some owl treats was an unmistakable flutter-memo from McNalley. With trembling fingers, Harry opened it.

_Potter -_

_P.I. Unit investigation still ongoing. Report to SS for continuation._

_Same office, 10:00._

_/McN_

Harry glanced at the clock: it was 9:45 already. Cursing under his breath, he rushed back out, almost bumping into his secretary who had been hovering outside his door. While she sputtered behind him, Harry dashed for the lifts.

***

He took a deep breath before knocking hesitantly on the Potions Master's door.

"Enter," a lazy voice replied.

The young Auror stepped into the dungeon. Snape was leaning over his desk, tying a small scroll to the leg of a barn owl. As if sensing someone watching it, the bird turned its head towards Harry. In the darkness, its face shone pale and ghostly. The owl didn't blink, just stared straight at Harry.

"Mr Potter, how thrilling to once again be on the receiving end of your company," Snape drawled with his back to Harry as he finished tying the letter. His voice was a glacier. Harry could just make out a black wax seal holding the scroll closed. With a silent unfurling of wings, the owl took off through a small window at the back of the room.

"Sir." Harry tried to sound as calm as he could, but the sudden coldness in Snape's voice had unsettled him. 

With a swirl of robes, Snape turned around. His face was closed, revealing nothing.

"Sit down," he ordered.

Harry swallowed and did as he was told. Would the man mention anything of what had happened yesterday?

Sinking down in the armchair across from Harry, Snape pressed the tips of his long fingers together, lightly touching them to his lips. He fixed Harry with his gaze.

Harry tried his utmost not to squirm. Conflicting emotions swirled inside of him. He was unable to keep a spark of longing from his eyes. Surely Snape would say something?

"It appears at least one bit of good fortune has befallen me in all of this…" Snape broke the silence. There was a hint of pleasure lacing his words.

Harry's heart soared! Was the Potion Master referring to -

"I was informed by the lab this morning that the analysis of yesterday's evidence is being fast-tracked. With a bit of luck, I should be able to wrap up this investigation and be rid of your detestable presence very soon," Snape sneered.

Harry's head sank to his chest in defeat. Snape was merely talking business and insulting him – as always. It was as if nothing had transpired between them at all, everything was just a dream. The loss stung. 

Yesterday, Snape's unusual behaviour had been a disturbing mind-fuck, rattling him to his core. Today, Harry could see it had been the most precious thing – now snatched away from him. Their intimacy may have been brief, but Harry felt its absence acutely.

He lowered his eyes, no longer meeting the Potions Master's gaze.

"I am yet to receive the lab's full report, but one thing is already clear to me, Potter."

The temperature in the room noticeably dropped. Harry paled as he detected a threat in the man's voice.

"Sir?" he whispered, pretty sure he did not want to know the answer. 

"This was no Pepper-Up Potion – as you damn well know! Your boss and colleagues may have believed that pitiable story, but you will not fool me with your ridiculous Gryffindor tales of innocence." Snape snapped. "Given the… effects I now know that you were subjected to, or should I say… _subjected yourself_ _to_ , I find it extremely hard to believe you did not ingest this potion willingly."

Harry started to tremble mutely when he realised what Snape was suggesting.

"When an unidentified potion of this sort is ingested, I ask myself: why would any person do that?" Snape's tone of mock wonder made Harry feel completely trapped.

"No…" he whispered quietly.

"Could it be… that someone would dare to ingest such a potion because they trusted the source it came from? Because they themselves… asked for the potion?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he whispered louder. "No."

"Why - Potter," Snape's eyes widened with fake surprise "Could that person by any chance be… an abuser of illegal potions? A… drug addict?"

Snape's eyes shone dangerously.

Harry flew up from his armchair. "No!" he shouted in panic, his voice shrill. "I'm not a drug addict!"

Snape just looked at him, the corners of his mouth drawn up in a smirk.

"Did I say anything about you specifically, Mr Potter? I was merely hazarding a random guess, speculating about unidentified individuals' motives and actions. But I daresay you realise what this whole situation looks like… Everyone's favourite Boy Hero," Snape mocked, "found unconscious with marks all over his body and an unidentified potions vial shattered next to him."

"Stop it! I didn't…."

"For once in your life, shut your mouth, Potter!" Snape hissed.

Harry winced.

"You know perfectly well lying to senior officials in the Ministry is a punishable offence, so I suggest you skip that pathetic Pepper-Up excuse of yours. I may not be in possession of concrete evidence yet, but once the results are in I have a feeling the Dementors will be waiting for you in Azkaban…"

"No!" Harry gasped in panic. Without thinking, he grabbed the Potions Master's sleeve. "Please!"

Snape's eyes snapped down to the fingers clutching his robe. "Potter…" he warned darkly.

"Please," Harry begged, hoarse with despair. "I can't go to Azkaban, I can't! Please, it's not what it looks like, I'll do anything, just… " His voice broke. "Don't send me to Azkaban."

It was as if time stood still. Seconds stretched out between the two men. Harry's green eyes were forest foliage with morning light filtering through. They were laced with tears. Across from him, dark orbs returned his gaze – shadows sliding across a starless night sky.

When Snape answered, his voice was pure danger.

"Anything, Potter?" he whispered silkily.

Harry swallowed. He almost, almost wished he hadn't said what he'd said – but then the thought of Dementors and clammy cells choked him, and he simply nodded.

"Anything," Harry's voice shook, but he looked straight at Snape. His meaning could not be misunderstood.

A sly smirk spread across the Potions Master's face. "Look at that… The Golden Boy offering himself up so shamelessly. What makes you think I would want you though, Potter?"

Alarm raced through Harry's body – had he miscalculated this? In blind panic, he sank to his knees. Tentatively, he laid a hand on Snape's thigh and turned his pale face up in a promise. "Sir…" he whispered.

Snape looked down at Harry. The younger man's lips were slightly parted, and tears streaked his cheeks. A spark of lust flashed behind Snape's eyes. Something inside Harry flickered to life when he caught it.

"Open your mouth," Snape said.

Harry instantly obeyed.

"Hands behind your back," came another order. "And look at me."

Snape began to unbutton his trousers, eyes transfixed on the young Auror.

"The Saviour of the Wizarding World, on his knees in front of me," he smirked.

Snape threaded the fingers of one hand almost tenderly through Harry's dark locks. Harry instinctively turned towards the comfort – but his head was abruptly yanked back. Harry gasped in pain.

"That's right, open your mouth for me," Snape leered, as he undid the last of his trouser buttons with his other hand and freed his cock. It was fully erect. Harry could see the veins throbbing along it.

Before Harry had time to blink, Snape roughly shoved the entire length of his cock into Harry's mouth. It hit the back of his throat so suddenly Harry gagged. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Is that the best you can do, Potter? You're pathetic," Snape drawled, pulling back slightly. Harry had only seconds to gasp for air before the man thrust his cock back in, still pulling back Harry's head hard to force the younger man to look at him.

"'Anything', you said. So if you don't want all of wizarding Britain to know you're a filthy, desperate drug addict, I suggest you open that pretty little mouth for me and don't make a sound."

With that, Snape began brutally fucking Harry's mouth. There wasn't a shred of love in the act. Tears pooled in the young wizard's eyes as he was forced to deep-throat the man over and over and over. The taste of bitter precum stained his tongue. Harry struggled not to double over and retch as Snape grunted over him.

It was nothing like the soaring ecstasy of what Harry had experienced with Snape while on the potion – nothing even like the surreal flirting of the day before.

Harry felt infinitely sad as he kneeled before the Potions Master.

At one point, he was certain he would pass out. He squeezed his eyes shut for one moment. The sound of a slap immediately rang through the dungeon. Harry's eyes snapped back open. A burning rose of pain bloomed across his cheek.

"I told you to look at me, you worthless slut," Snape breathed, his pupils blown. He seemed more animal than man, fucking Harry's mouth.

Tears streamed down Harry's cheeks and he made a whimpering sound.

"Don't – pretend – you don't – want this – Potter," Snape's words accompanied the rhythm of his thrusts. "I've – seen you – looking – at me."

Harry could feel Snape's hardness throb in his mouth, rough against his tongue. His knees were numb from the cold stone floor.

" _I know_ " Snape hissed " _you love me_."

With those words, Harry's deepest secret was out in the open between them. A strangled sob escaped Harry.

With a painful tightening of his hold on the younger man's hair, Snape thrust his pelvis forward one last time before he came with a groan. Salty cum filled the mouth of the younger man, who gagged reflexively.

"Swallow it, you whore." Snape forced Harry's head with a sharp tug. Harry obeyed and swallowed, feeling Snape's cum slide sickly down his throat.

With a wet sound, the Potion Master pulled out. Harry bowed his head, completely dejected. His mouth had gone numb and his jaw hurt.

Snape put one finger underneath Harry's chin, tipping his face upwards. He looked down at Harry as if Harry was a slimy potions ingredient he'd rather not touch without gloves. 

Leaning closer, he slapped Harry's cheek a few times with his now half-slack cock. Harry stared up hollowly at the Potions Master, too tired to resist the lazy insult. Cum still trailed from the tip of Snape's cock and smeared Harry's face.

"Looks good on you," Snape smirked. "Shows you belong to me, just the way you wanted. Shows that you're worthless. Just a worthless, desperate fucktoy who's so scared of Azkaban," he mocked.

Snape stuffed himself back into his trousers and smoothed out his robes.

"…" Harry tried to say something, but he'd lost his voice. Slumped over, he massaged his throat with one hand, staring unseeingly at the floor.

He tried again. "…S… Sir," he croaked.

But as the whisper left him, he heard the door to the dungeon open. Blindly, Harry looked up. Before he could say anything else, Snape was gone in a whirl of dark robes and long black hair.

Harry's heart heaved as a dark laugh echoed off into the distance. 


	12. Chapter 12

Harry was curled up in the foetus position in his bed, trying but failing to block out the memory of the afternoon. He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off, just stumbling into bed as he came back to his flat that evening.

His breath came out in wheezes. Both because his throat still smarted after Snape's treatment of him, but also because he was trying hard not to cry. He thought he'd known pain: when Snape left him without a word after the trial, when Ginny cheated on him, all the days spent close to Snape at the Ministry without once earning the man's attention. But this… 

A low howl escaped Harry. He stuffed his fingers in his mouth, desperate not to let go.

He couldn't let go again. Feelings like this were what had sent him off the cliff in the first place, sent him straight into his raging drug habit – and now he was facing a prison sentence in the bleakest place on earth.

He had no idea how to interpret Snape's departure from the dungeon. He'd tried to make it clear to the man that he could take whatever he wanted from Harry: Harry was entirely at his mercy. Both because he was desperately in love with Snape and because the man, as the Ministry's lead investigator, held his professional fate in his hands. He would do anything Snape asked of him.

But Snape had simply left. He'd given Harry no clue as to whether he would offer leniency in the verdict, or – Harry winced – whether he'd simply taken what Harry offered… without even caring for Harry.

That was probably the worst part: amid his fear over the investigation, Harry hungered for Snape's affection more than ever. It was like he was a child in his cupboard again, desperate for someone to come rescue him from the Dursleys… Harry wanted the Potions Master with his whole heart, wanted to be held and loved by him. But that seemed a complete impossibility. The knowledge made Harry hug his knees tighter to his chest.

But was it truly so impossible?

Harry grimaced. The past days had been extremely confusing. When he'd been high on Draco's potion, everything had been pure gold, all anxiety gone and replaced by sheer love and pleasure. But then at work, Snape had just been his usual self: bat-like, angry, and completely uninterested in Harry. 

Or… had he? Why the maddening closeness in his office during the interview? Wasn't that flirting? Or was Harry being a fool, seeing signs where there were none?

Frustrated, Harry punched his pillow.

This was why he'd tried to quit his drug habit in the first place, he reminded himself. Because potions had always blurred the lines for him. Drugs made reality slip from his hands and he had never known how to deal with that. If anything, he should keep his mind firmly on what happened today. The facts were that Snape had brutally used Harry. That was hard to interpret as anything other than sadism.

There was no love there.

Harry's eyes prickled at the thought. He hugged his pillow to his chest, desperate for something to hold on to.

Stupid drug habit. Stupid drugs. Stupid, stupid… drugs.

_Drugs._

No, Harry told himself. He wouldn't!

He ground his teeth.

But already, his resolve was weakening. Maybe he couldn't do this on his own after all. No matter what Albus Dumbledore had thought of him, or what the press constantly wrote about him, he wasn't strong and brave.

And Dumbledore was dead now, and Harry was all alone.

Blinded by tears, he stumbled over to where his robes lay on a chair in the corner of his bedroom. In the dark, his fingers fumbled and found what he was looking for in the pocket of one of his garments, among crumpled Tesco receipts and an empty Honeydukes wrapper.

With more force than usual, Harry pressed his thumb to the Galleon.

He was a drowning man.

****

"Please," Harry spoke the second he heard the crack of Apparition. He was dressed too thinly for the time of year, his teeth already chattering in the winter's air, but he didn't care. He grasped the arm of the blond who had just arrived.

"Whoa, Potter, what's happened to you?" Draco pulled back, surprise and some distaste on his face.

Harry stared back with hollow eyes. "I need another one," he croaked. Even he could hear he barely sounded sane.

"Another…?"

"The sex potion," Harry tightened his grip on Draco. "I need more. Please! Just one more vial."

Draco frowned, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"I said it was a limited edition, Potter. I warned you…"

"Please!" Madness threatened to overtake Harry.

The elegant blond in front of him was silent for a few moments, observing him.

Harry opened his mouth to beg. He didn't care if he debased himself even further today, he had no self-respect left. The pain was simply too much to bear.

"Draco…" his voice broke.

But Draco held up a hand, something almost like pity in his eyes. "You're in luck, Potter," he said quietly. With one hand, he extracted a vial from the folds of his robe.

Dark-red flecks swirled slowly inside thin air.

Harry gasped, instantly jumping towards Draco.

But Draco pulled back, holding off Harry with one hand against his chest, the potion just out of reach of his grappling hands.

"Turns out my supplier made two vials, Potter. But this is the last one. I can't give you any more after this. If you take this potion and find that you..." Draco paused slightly "… are left wanting, I won't be able to help you. _This is your decision_."

He emphasised the last sentence and held Harry with a piercing look.

Ocean grey and winter's days, Harry thought absentmindedly as he gazed into Draco's eyes in front of him. There was something almost like a warning in those eyes. Something Harry couldn't quite read.

But he was distracted by the vial in his former classmate's hand, and swatted away all other thoughts.

"Please," he breathed with urgency.

Their bodies were pressed together in the cold night, Harry leaning into Draco on tiptoe to try and get to the vial. A streetlight glowed silvery on the top of Draco's head. Their breath formed clouds each time they exhaled. 

At long last, Draco relented.

"Fine," he sighed, and handed over the vial.

Harry couldn't pay Draco fast enough, the coins almost slipping from his fingers as tears welled up in his eyes – whether from relief or desperation, he couldn't say. The transaction seemed significant, somehow, but he didn't have the energy to dwell on it.

With a nod, he turned around

Draco Malfoy watched Harry retreat back into the building.

He stood in the alley for the longest time afterwards, a lone figure in dark robes.

Snow starting drifting down. Small flakes settled on a pale head, bowed.

Eventually, he Disapparated.

The sound of his departure was muffled by the snow.


	13. Chapter 13

Clutching the vial in his hand, Harry stood in front of the window, gazing out over the city. London spread out underneath him like an enormous black maze. Loneliness washed over Harry. He felt exhausted to the core. Exhausted from the events of recent days, the rollercoaster of emotions with Snape, the impending verdict in the investigation.

But most of all, he was exhausted from the life he'd been living since the war. What was the point of it all?

Harry wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. The gesture was filled with defeat.

He looked down at the potion. Even if nothing would be all right from now on, at least he would have this. One night with the man he loved.

His fingernail pried off the wax seal. It crumbled to the floor.

Resting his forehead against the glass, Harry felt the cold creep into his skin. He took a deep breath. "Severus…" he mumbled, as he tilted his head back.

Straight away, the drug began to work. A sudden lightness flowed through Harry's chest, and a soft smile appeared on his lips.

As the vial slipped from his hand, the young man slumped backwards onto the couch. His eyelids fluttered shut.

***

Harry blinked. Once again, he found himself in the now-familiar dungeon, all his senses hyper alert. He could feel his lungs contracting and expanding, his heart beating in his chest, the blood flowing through his body.

He took in his surroundings. The cauldrons glowed ghostly along the wall and smoke clouded the air. The darkness was unbroken but for the flickering of torches. Harry shivered. Anticipation created goosebumps on his arms.

He was excited, but a sadness tinged his fantasy.

This would be the last time, he thought with a lump in his throat.

"Severus?" he asked softly.

There was no answer. But at the far back of the room, a door was slightly ajar. Harry had never noticed it before. With tentative steps, he walked through.

In front of him was an exquisitely decorated bedroom. On the walls hung tapestries with a pattern of fleur-de-lis, silver against dark green. An enormous four-poster bed in the middle of the room was made up invitingly with velvet sheets and a mass of pillows. Carved snakes slithered up the wood of the bed posts.

Harry swallowed as he spotted metal rings on either end of the headboard and footboard. The bed practically screamed sex. On a low bedside table was a platter for drinks and a vase of dried thistles. The bed was illuminated by an oil lamp floating eerily by itself, emitting a soft glow. The rest of the room was shrouded in shadows. 

There was an air of foreboding over the place, but it titillated Harry. 

Suddenly, he became aware of someone observing him. Harry spun around and gasped: right beside the door, in a high-backed armchair, sat Snape.

"Mr Potter," he drawled. "Back again."

Harry shivered with want. "Yes," he whispered. "I'm back."

Snape's eyes – ink stains on the whitest parchment – bore straight into him. The man's black robes pooled at his feet. His hands lay on the chair's armrests, infinitely elegant.

"What do you want?" Snape asked, and Harry's knees almost buckled. It was as if the Potion Master's voice physically licked his body with promise.

Without thinking, the words slipped from Harry: "Everything."

"I had to come back," he continued. "I couldn't stay away. I know it's… illegal, but I need it too much." Harry looked down at his feet, feeling oddly vulnerable. "So I bought more. I can't survive without it. Without… you."

Snape's eyes flashed with a dangerous triumph. Slowly, he rose from the armchair and glided over to Harry like a giant bat.

When they stood facing each other, Snape brought the tip of his tongue out to lick along his lips. They shone wetly in the dark.

"Everything," he repeated. The word dripped with lust.

Harry's breathing came more rapidly.

"But 'everything' is only given to those who know how to obey. Do you know how to obey, Potter?" He pronounced each word with such precision it sent a tingle of desire along Harry's spine.

"Sir," Harry nodded.

"You will address me as 'Master' tonight," Snape commanded.

"Master," Harry breathed.

Snape took a hold of Harry's chin, forcing the younger wizard's face up to his. Sparks shot through Harry at the touch.

For long seconds, Snape just gazed at him. " _Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes…_ " he whispered, his breath hot on Harry's skin.

Harry swallowed. He didn't understand the reference, but the passion underlying the statement made his cock twitch in his trousers. It was as if the other man was drinking him up. Harry had never before felt so wanted.

When Snape finally let go of his chin, the man looked down at him with the hunger of a predator.

"You will do as I say from now on."

"Yes, Master," Harry bowed his head.

Snape took a step back and folded his arms. "Strip for me," he ordered.

Harry felt a tightening in his groin. The thought of standing completely naked in front of his former Professor made him nervous and sick with desire at the same time. Slowly, he let his robe fall from his shoulders to the ground. He pulled his jumper over his head, stepped out of his shoes and socks. The floor was cold against his feet.

Snape just stood watching as the young man did exactly as Snape wished. Suddenly, Harry wanted nothing more than to surrender his entire being to this man, regardless of what was asked from him.

With trembling fingers, he began unbuttoning his shirt. As he shucked it off, exposing his toned chest and turning to Snape, the other man's eyes flashed in the darkness. But he didn't lift a finger, nor move to touch Harry: he simply watched.

Continuing, Harry unzipped his jeans. With a slight tug, he pulled them all the way down and stepped out of them.

Harry paused, wearing nothing but his boxers. The light from the oil lamp above the bed accentuated his erection through the fabric. Harry's body quivered with want. Demurely, he looked at the Potions Master.

Snape raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed.

Harry hooked his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulled the last garment down.

His cock jutted out sharply, fully erect and begging for attention. But he knew he was at his master's mercy. He didn't dare move.

Harry looked at Snape to convey all the longing and devotion he felt. He wanted the Potions Master to use him.

"You've been hard for me for years, haven't you?" Snape's voice dripped.

A moan escaped Harry. "Master," he breathed.

"Spread your legs. Arms behind your back," Snape barked.

Harry instantly did as he was ordered.

Snape snapped his fingers. Abruptly, everything went dark. Harry's head jerked up in surprise. He was blindfolded.

An instant later, a voice whispered into his ear, much closer than Harry had expected.

"You've been misbehaving, Potter. Using potions you're not supposed to use. Developing a disgusting habit. So tonight, you will be punished. You will act and do exactly as told. You are not to touch yourself or attempt to come. Tonight, you are here to service me."

As the voice spoke, Harry felt a fingertip run along his spine and continue down between his arse cheeks. Instinctively, he clenched them together and shivered.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

A sharp spank landed on Harry's right arse cheek. Before he could register it, a second followed and landed in the exact same spot. Harry gasped at the sting.

Roughly, a hand tightened around his neck and spun him around. Harry stumbled and was pushed down. He felt his chest hit something – hard wood – and realised it had to be the footboard of the bed. His upper body was parallel to the floor. The hand around his neck kept him pinned down painfully.

"Vincio." A spell came – and Harry's arms flew out to either side of him, his wrists bound to the far ends of the footboard. Leather straps held him in place.

"Nowhere to hide now…"

Harry listened intently, searching for clues in Snape's voice now he couldn't depend on his sense of sight any longer. The main message was clear: Harry was completely powerless. He shivered with fear and lust.

Quietly, he waited for what would be next. But all he heard were footsteps heading off. He turned his head, but the blindfold made the gesture completely useless. Where was Snape going?

He heard the door to the bedroom open. Was the Potions Master leaving him here? A gust of cold air hit his naked body. He felt vulnerable and exposed, bound to the bed with his arse out.

"Potter," the words suddenly came again. Harry jerked.

Two cool hands ran down the inside of his thighs, caressing him up and down. He sighed at the sudden pleasure.

"Here you are: tied up to my bed, desperate for it… Like a filthy whore. A filthy whore nobody wants. Left by his own wife… In love with his former teacher."

Harry exhaled quietly. The touch on his skin was intoxicating and clashed with the insults that were uttered – his brain couldn’t tie the two together.

One of the hands suddenly pinched the flesh of his thigh, hard. Harry yelped.

"That was a question – answer me!"

"Y-yes, Master," Harry winced.

"Say it: I am in love with you."

"I… I'm in love with you, Master."

A hand caressed him again. "'In love'… You always were a pathetic Gryffindor, weren't you? So ready to believe in big words and noble ideals… Hoping your love will be returned."

The voice was dark and honeyed. Harry clenched his eyes shut behind the blindfold, feeling the hand so close to his cock. He fought the urge to scream in frustration each time the hand stopped just short of touching his cock and balls. And the talk of love made his heart ache with want.

"But only those who are strong deserve love… Not spineless, weak losers like you. A loser who goes home at night and cries in his apartment. You aren't strong, are you, Potter?"

"N-no, Master," Harry's heart sank.

"Maybe I should make you strong then. Give you what you so desire…" The hand that had kept caressing him stilled, and Harry felt something thin and rough against his leg.

"Please," Harry breathed.

A loud crack shot through the air. Harry's heart jumped. Whatever had made the crack was now slowly being dragged over his bare back. The end of a rope?

"Let's say… I enjoy whipping my lovers into shape for me," Snape smirked.

Before Harry could even flinch, the whip lashed against his shoulder. Harry cried out at the burst of pain. A second later, another lash hit the back of his thighs.

"Not a sound," Snape sneered. "Love needs to be earned."

Harry pressed his lips together until they were white.

The whip cracked again. And again. And again.

White-hot pain spread through the back of his thighs and his arse cheeks: lashes kept raining down on his back, unrelenting. Harry bit on his lip to try and keep from screaming out.

The final lashing landed just above the back of his knees, making Harry buckle. At his wrists, the straps cut painfully into his flesh as he slumped.

A body leaned over him, its robes rough against his smarting thighs. Snape pushed his pelvis against Harry's arse, teasing and creating friction for himself.

"Is that the best you can do?" the older man breathed right by Harry's ear. "It's like you're not even trying. No one will love you like that. You deserve to be alone, you're pathetic," he spat out. "Just like that father of yours. Never even trying, just expecting people to like him for flashing them a smile. But he was wrong… his best friend betrayed him without even a second thought."

The words were daggers in Harry's heart. Desperate to make Snape see he wasn't like his father, Harry gritted his teeth against the pain. "I'm… trying. Please… I can."

Two hands slid down over Harry's arse cheeks, spreading them wide open. Harry's chest clenched in fear of what was coming. He heard Snape harkle; something wet trickle down between his arse cheeks. A finger followed and smeared out what must be spit. Harry gasped when the finger suddenly slid over his opening – it was so intimate, so sensitive.

Without any further preparation, two fingers were roughly shoved into him. Harry screamed out at the sudden burning. It was like he was on fire, it hurt so much he thought he would faint. A tear rolled out from underneath the blindfold.

Just as suddenly, the fingers stilled inside him.

"Shhh," Snape shushed, his hand softly stroking Harry over his head.

Harry whimpered at the sudden affection, overwhelmed with relief. His shoulders relaxed somewhat.

Snape continued consoling him, his free hand now massaging Harry's neck. Harry let his forehead rest on the wood of the bed's footboard, concentrating on the feel of Snape's touch. The hand continued over his back, gently tracing his spine, while Snape kept shushing Harry. It was easier that way to forget the two fingers still inside him, easier to ignore the burn.

"It's alright," the voice said softly. "It's just you getting what you deserve…"

Harry stiffened at that, unsure again at the shift in affection. But the hand kept roaming over his body and relaxing him. It was such a warm feeling, he needed that consolation so much. The hand slid down his side, towards his hip bone.

The voice came back, rich and sultry… "Remember: tonight, you're here to service me, be my cumslut. Nothing to worry about, all you need to do is be good and open up to me…"

Snape's hand glided tantalisingly over Harry's hip bone, towards his half-hard cock. "You know you want to, you've longed for it for such a long time… Haven't you, Potter? You're desperate for it. Desperate to feel me inside of you…"

Harry felt nauseous and horny at the same time.

When a single finger stroked along his cock, he inhaled and let out his breath in a hiss. More. All he could think of was getting more. His hips automatically jutted to try and increase the contact, but as he did so, the hand left him.

"I didn't think so," Snape smirked. Instantly, he shoved his two fingers deeper into Harry's opening.

Harry grunted in pain, but the pain was now mixed with the lingering pleasure in his cock – he didn't know which of the sensations to focus on.

Noting his confusion, the Potions Master behind him started fingerfucking Harry in earnest, pushing his fingers in and out of the younger wizard he had bound to the bed frame. Showing neither gentleness nor mercy, he penetrated Harry with a steady rhythm that had Harry breathless and in agony.

Just when Harry thought he couldn't take the brutality anymore, the hand shifted its angle slightly. A wave of unbelievable bliss ran through Harry's body, wiping out all the other sensations. He gasped loudly.

"Scream for me," Snape growled.

Released from the order to be silent, Harry let go. "Hnnnnnnhh," he moaned as the fingers kept hitting his prostate. "Uhhhnnn…. Sn – "

" Severus!" the voice ordered.

"Severus - " Harry blurted out, the burn stretching his opening now mixed with divine pleasure that had him wanting more.

The Potions Master gripped Harry's hip and angled it, arching Harry's back and exposing his arse even further. The position was utterly wanton.

"Do you want me to fuck you now, Potter?"

Harry could only moan in response, breathing hard.

"Is that what you want? For me to pound into you? Have my cock inside of you?"

"Severus…" Harry panted, the Potions Master's fingers relentlessly fucking him. The stream of conflicting messages made Harry rock hard, on edge. He needed more than this painful, dissatisfying half-gesture.

"Beg for it," Snape ordered.

"Please," Harry managed to get out. "I want you."

"Tell me how you want me."

"I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up and come inside of me. Please!"

With that, Snape pulled his fingers out of Harry, who suddenly felt empty and bereft.

"Solvo," Snape commanded, and Harry's wrists were untied. His arms fell limply by his side and he would have fallen to his knees, were it not for the strong arms that wrapped around his waist and dragged him onto the bed. Still blindfolded, Harry could do nothing but follow.

He was thrown on his back onto the sheets, disoriented and breathless. The mattress dipped slightly as Snape climbed onto the bed next to him.

With a snap of fingers, Harry's blindfold was spelled off. He blinked. Snape was on all fours over him, pinning him to the bed. The Potions Master was still fully clothed, his robes trailing behind him. Raven locks had slipped loose from his bun and framed his face, his expression animalistic.

"Look at me," the man commanded with a rough voice.

Harry almost melted at the need behind the words. His eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open. "Fuck me," Harry begged again – still not sure whether the man wanted him or not, but too far gone to try and answer the question.

Harry drew up his knees to his chest and opened his legs as wide as he could, offering himself to the other man. The pale back of his thighs was streaked with angry red whip marks. Harry's cock was leaking precum. 

"Filthy slut," Snape breathed.

He began unfastening the buttons of his trousers with one hand, still pinning Harry down with his body and never leaving the younger man's face with his eyes. Harry knew better than to look as Snape pulled down his trousers, even though he desperately wanted to see the other man's erection. The thought alone made him mewl softly.

Eyes locked, the two men breathed hard.

Snape spat on his hand and reach down between his legs. Seconds later, Harry felt the tip of a slick cock press against his opening. Oh god. He looked straight at Snape, begging him to fuck him. When nothing happened, he whined in frustration and uncertainty.

A smirk played on Snape's lips. "Impatient as always. You haven't learned anything since Hogwarts, I see. Why don't you ask nicely for it, Potter?"

"Please, Master, I beg you," Harry said breathlessly, surrendering completely to the man on top of him.

"Why should I, Potter? Why would you deserve anything?" The answer stung.

Harry felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"That's right," Snape nodded. "You don't deserve anything…"

With that, he pushed into Harry until he was fully sheathed inside the younger man. Harry's mouth opened in a silent O at the sudden fullness. "Uhnnnnn," he let out.

Snape answered with a sharp snap of his hips. Harry cried out. "Fuck me!"

As Snape started penetrating him with long, forceful strokes, Harry could only lay on the bed and let himself be used. Snape's cock slid in and out of Harry, stretching him and filling him.

Faster and faster the thrusts came, as Snape put more force behind his moves. His dark eyes kept Harry in place, hypnotising him. He slammed into Harry, who was panting with need. "Severus…" he gasped.

"Take it all, you whore" Snape growled.

Harry panted, feeling the other man's strength and lust. He so badly wanted to be touched himself, wanted a hand on his cock.

"Master, will you…" he dared utter.

Snape laughed darkly, casting the briefest glance at Harry's erection, but continued thrusting. "Ask me again, Potter," he said and licked his lips.

"Please Master, will you touch me?" Harry asked.

"No. Ask me again."

"Please, Master… Please put your hand on me," Harry begged.

Snape breathed faster and faster. "Why would I give you anything? Ask me again."

Harry was almost crying now, both from need and from the force of Snape's fucking.

"Master… I'm begging you." Harry was now so desperate, he sobbed.

At Harry's helpless reaction, Snape's body convulsed and he groaned. He jerked his pelvis against Harry's arse, bending down over Harry with such force that Harry struggled to breathe. Snape came hard, spilling his seed inside of his former student's body.

The Potions Master panted. With glazed eyes, he stared at Harry. His mouth seemed to whisper a four-letter word, but Harry failed to catch it.

For a few seconds, the two men just looked at each other, both breathing hard.

Then Snape's ink-dark eyes shuttered coldly and he slid out of Harry. Harry felt semen trickle out of him. His own erection was still painfully hard and he was frantic for release. He looked at the Potions Master, but the man's lips curled up in a sneer.

"Get down on the floor," he ordered.

The blood rushed to Harry's head. He did as he was told and sank down on his knees on the cold stones. He whimpered as his calves hit his tender thighs, feeling the lash marks. In the dark, his cock stood out lonely.

Snape watched him lazily from the bed, his own cock already back inside his trousers. He seemed completely uninterested.

"Make yourself come against the floor," he commanded. "No touching with your hands."

Harry scrambled to his knees, disappointed but desperate. He pushed his hips down to the floor. At the first touch, he jerked back – the stones were ice-cold against his cock. 

Snape observed him in disgust. 

Harry gulped and bent his head, embarrassed but aching for release. He moved his hips again and started rutting – ignoring the cold, ignoring the fact that he was alone on the floor. His cock throbbed with want, all the images of the evening flooding through his brain. His breathing came faster. He was rutting like an animal.

Harry couldn't help it: he looked back up at the bed, straight into Snape's eyes. Helplessly. Pleading. Begging the man he loved.

"Come for me, slut" Snape commanded.

And Harry came. He gasped as shudders wracked his body, warm liquid spurting from his cock. His thighs trembled from the release.

Harry exhaled slowly, exhausted from the physical effort. Between his knees, pale-white cum lay on the dark stones.

“And now,” Snape’s tone was malicious, “clean up your mess.”

Harry’s eyes snapped back to the man on the bed above him. Would he really have to…?

The Potions Master only sneered. “Do not make me repeat the order.” 

Harry looked back down at his seed on the floor. It was already starting to glaze over. He swallowed.

Slowly, the young Auror bent forward until he was on his hands and knees. Like an animal. Like a useless pet no one wanted to have.

He dipped out the tip of his tongue, trying hard not to breathe in the bitter smell. 

Harry briefly squeezed his eyes shut as he licked at the cum. The sensation almost made him gag. One the bed, he heard Snape breathing lowly as he watched Harry.

Still naked on all fours, Harry shivered. Face to the floor, he lapped up his own cum. He dragged his tongue over the cold floor, licking and swallowing until all traces of his orgasm were gone.

Harry closed his eyes again as the last of the cum disappeared down his throat. He felt sick with the taste, sick with humiliation. 

But he would do anything for the Potions Master. Anything.

Pushing himself up painfully on his hands, Harry opened his eyes to look at the man again – but the bed was gone.

Instead, Harry was gazing up at the ceiling of his own apartment.

The living room was dark. 

In the corner, he heard the buzzing of the fridge.

Harry screamed. 


	14. Chapter 14

When Harry dragged himself into work the next morning, much later than usual, he was vaguely aware that he must look a wreck. Head bowed, he didn't notice his secretary shift in her seat and glance nervously at him as he shuffled into his office. He was stuck in a haze of misery, completely unaware of his surroundings.

Sinking down in his chair, Harry sighed. He barely had the energy to turn his face towards the charmed window. Rain drizzled down onto grey streets.

There were dark rings under Harry's bloodshot eyes.

Shifting his gaze back to his desk, Harry noticed a small scroll of parchment sticking out from under a stack of folders. It must have come with the morning's first owl delivery, Harry thought dimly. Unfurling the scroll, he found a single line scribbled onto the parchment:

_"He's my godfather. I couldn't say no. I'm sorry."_

Harry just stared at the parchment with dull eyes.

He vaguely seemed to recognise the handwriting from somewhere, but his brain refused to process any information.

Suddenly, a rumble of footsteps neared his office door. Harry heard Charisse Coote's chair scraping back over the tiled floor. Just as he looked up, his door was thrown open with a bang.

McNalley barged into his office, his entire body radiating fury. Three guards of the Auror corps' security division followed. They came to a halt in front of Harry's desk, a silent wall of menace. Harry's mouth fell open in a small 'o' of surprise. What was going on?

"Potter, you are under arrest," McNalley thundered.

A coil of fear sprang up in Harry's stomach. Under arrest? He paled.

"Mr McNalley," he began.

"Save it," his boss snapped. He nodded curtly at the guards. As one, they surged towards Harry. Their faces were slabs of steel.

Harry tried to stand, stumbling up from his chair. Already, large hands were gripping his upper arms, dragging him away from the desk. Behind McNalley, he saw his secretary hover in the doorway. Catching his gaze, she shook her head sadly and disappeared from sight.

Now Harry started to panic in earnest. "Sir, what's the meaning of – "

McNalley's eyes shot fire. "Auror Potter, you are charged with the Class A crime of procuring and consuming illegal potions, as well as obstructing the course of justice and lying to senior Ministry officials. Because of the severity of your crime, the Ministry has ordered a trial in front of the full Wizengamot as well as the curtailment of your freedom, effective immediately. You will now be escorted down to the dungeons for your hearing."

All the blood left Harry's body. No. It was impossible.

"There must be a misunderstanding," he spoke rapidly, "I haven't – "

He was instantly interrupted. "Anything you say may be taken down and used as evidence against you, Auror Potter." McNalley's voice was cold. "I suggest you think wisely about what you decide to say."

Harry snapped his mouth shut, thoughts racing.

There was no way they could have found any evidence against him. He'd only used the one potion at work lately. The vial had been unmarked, and there had been so few drops left even before he drank it, that he doubted the lab could have found any real traces of potion. And yesterday he'd made sure to drink the drug at home, leaving no trace at work either.

Then… Draco?

But Harry dismissed the possibility just as quickly. The Malfoy family's reputation had been in tatters since the war; Narcissa had moved abroad and Lucius was locked up in Azkaban. Draco had been left all alone, and he'd had to work hard to eke out a low-key life for himself in wizarding society. It made no sense for Draco to betray Harry, as it would endanger his own hard-won freedom (and his business as a dealer).

"Move!"

One of the guards roughly shoved Harry in the back, snapping him out of his feverish thoughts. Harry stumbled again, but the guards dragged him up. Iron handcuffs were snapped around his wrists. The metal was cold on his skin.

"Escort him down to the courtroom!" McNalley ordered between gritted teeth.

The last thing Harry saw before they headed down was the metal grille of the lift clanging shut in front of him.

***

Amelia Bones' voice rang out loud and clear.

"Harry James Potter, following these charges you are to stand trial in front of the full Wizengamot. The maximum penalty carried by the charges is a twenty-year sentence in Azkaban and a lifelong ban on working in magic-related fields."

Beads of sweat shone on Harry's forehead. Chains of magic locked him firmly to a chair in the accused box in one of the Ministry's subterranean courtrooms.

The dungeon was similar to the one the trials had taken place in after the war, but Harry had never found himself in the position he was in now. He hadn't realised how intimidating it was to sit alone in front of the jury's bench, which virtually towered over him.

All members of the Wizengamot gazed down on him: some wore cold, almost triumphant looks, others frowned down upon him in disbelief. Not a single face showed kindness. Harry shivered: the purge against illegal drugs had been high on the Ministry's agenda since Shacklebolt took office. Almost everyone supported the Minister's position on the issue, afraid drug use would lead addicted witches and wizards down the path of Dark Magic.

Since the fall of Voldemort, preventing such an evolution had been the Ministry's main focus.

That Harry Potter himself – the ultimate peon of the Light side – was accused of dabbling in shady underworld activities would only aggravate people's fears, Harry realised miserably.

Not looking down at Harry, Amelia Bones continued.

"As the Chief Interrogator of today's hearing, I now call upon the main witness for the prosecution to step forward."

Harry looked up, but apart from the fifty jury members, the only others he could spot were the security guards and McNalley, who still looked thunderous. Everything had happened so fast, Harry doubted anyone else in the Ministry was even aware he'd been arrested. Guilt washed over Harry at the thought of Ron and Hermione's reactions when they would find out.

Suddenly, the door of the courtroom banged open. Harry jumped in his seat as the sound reverberated through the room.

Harry gasped.

Severus Snape strode towards the jury's bench, straight past Harry.

His robes billowed behind him like a dark omen of fate. In the darkness of the courtroom, his face was pale, hooked nose held high.

The little hairs on Harry's arms stood up. A stab of longing shot through his stomach, mixed with a sense of desperate relief: Snape was heading the prosecution… That meant there might still be a chance of mercy for Harry! His former professor would never let the Wizengamot carry out the maximum sentence. He and Harry had struck a deal, after all...

The young Auror turned his face towards the Potions Master, bright with hope.

But Severus Snape's voice cut through the silence with the precision of a razor blade.

"Madam Bones, esteemed members of the Wizengamot – I stand before you today to substantiate the claim that Mr Harry James Potter is indeed guilty of the aforementioned crimes."

Harry's mouth went completely dry.

Madam Bones looked at Snape over her spectacles. "And you have the evidence to back this up?"

"I do, Madam," Snape nodded to the Wizengamot.

The Potions Master's words were concise, but being his student at Hogwarts for years had taught Harry to read between the lines and know exactly when to start fearing for his life.

This was one of those times.

Snape turned to Harry like a snake. When their gazes met, the taller wizard's eyes glittered in the dark. Harry could only look back in wide-eyed horror, his body taut with nerves.

Surely the man wouldn't…

No. Harry couldn't believe it. Memories of intimacy flashed through his brain – the Potions Master's caresses, his fingers carding through Harry's hair in a soothing gesture, his erection betraying his feelings for Harry.

No, there was no way this would be the end. Not after the two of them had been so intimate.

When Snape spoke next, his words took Harry aback.

"A Pensieve, if you please."

Harry sat in silent confusion. A Pensieve? He'd never taken drugs in the presence of anyone else, no one had ever seen him shoot up – why would Snape need a Pensieve?

But a courtroom assistant instantly strode forth with a heavy stone Pensieve in his hands. Gingerly, he set down the object in front of Snape. Its edges were decorated with intertwined "W’s", marking it as the Wizengamot's official magical artifact. There would be no way to claim it had been tampered with.

Snape's elegant fingers drew his wand from his sleeve, placing the tip against his temple.

As he began drawing a memory from his mind, he caught Harry's gaze.

Harry watched a wisp of silver connecting to Snape's wand. He swallowed hard.

He felt as if he had stepped outside of his body and disconnected from what was happening, floating over the proceedings. Fear coursed through him. What was this memory? He feverishly tried to remember all his real-life interactions with Snape that could have created an incriminating memory. Had he let slip anything? Had anyone else mentioned anything in the man's presence?

But there was nothing he could think of.

When Snape carefully withdrew his wand from his temple, the memory trailed after it. Snape's lips curled up in an almost imperceptible smirk. Watching the lips that had kissed him, Harry felt sick to his stomach with apprehension.

"The members of the Wizengamot may find it beneficial to witness the evidence publicly. If I may?" Snape suggested.

Amelia Bones inclined her head.

"Proiecto" Snape slashed his wand through the air.

As one, all jury members leaned forward. Their eyes shone colourlessly in the torchlight flickering off the walls.

Like a pearly ghost, a memory rose from the stone Pensieve. It shifted and swirled, growing larger and larger, until a scene took shape, suspended in front of them.

Harry's heart stopped.

"No," he whispered hoarsely.

A silvery reflection of Harry floated in mid-air. The reflection looked nervous, but his face was flushed. His eyes stared hungrily at something – or someone – in front of him. When the reflection opened his mouth to speak, the words that came sounded haunted, crazed. "I had to come back," Pensieve Harry whispered. "I couldn't stay away. I know it's… illegal, but I need it too much."

Several members of the Wizengamot exclaimed in shock. Harry closed his eyes, but he heard them mutter nevertheless, scandalised.

"So I bought more. I can't survive without…"

The voice in the Pensieve was unmistakably Harry's. The memory's words hung heavy in the courtroom, where a shocked silence had settled.

Harry sat with his eyes still closed, unable to move or breathe.

_How?_

The single question ran through his mind, over and over. How on earth had Snape gotten this memory? It was Harry's private fantasy, a drug-fuelled experience he'd entered in the solitude of his apartment last night. Snape had been in the fantasy, but he hadn't seen the man in real life, during or since. So how on earth could Snape have extracted this picture from his head?

"Mr Snape," Madam Bones was the first of the jury members to regain her voice. There was shock and dismay in her tone.

Wincing, Harry opened his eyes again.

But Snape interrupted her. "If you please," he said, holding up one hand.

Looking annoyed at having been interrupted, but respectful of his request as the chief witness, Madam Bones nodded curtly.

Snape turned slowly towards Harry, who shrank back against the chair's magical bonds. He felt like a deer caught in a trap.

With the deadly quiet of a hunter, Snape stepped closer. Fear coursed through Harry's body.

When Snape came to a halt in front of him, he bent down to Harry's eye-level. Ink-black eyes bore into Harry's.

In a voice of deadly quiet, the man continued:

"There's more…"

Harry's eyes widened in fear. He gave a tiny shake of his head, willing Snape to stop. But the man only raised his voice slightly, still inches away from Harry's face.

"If my investigations are correct, esteemed members of the jury, Auror Potter – " his words dripped with disdain at Harry's title " – carries fresh evidence of a drug-fueled escapade on his body."

Gasps of outrage followed Snape's statement.

Tiberius Ogden, who'd been seated next to Amelia Bones and scowled at Harry throughout the proceedings, shouted: "Show us!" Several other members of the Wizengamot nodded fervently in agreement.

Snape gave Harry a smile that chilled him to the bone.

"Strip for me, Potter," he whispered under his breath in his sultriest voice, too low for anyone else to hear.

Harry's mind both froze and burst into flames at the same time. He didn't understand what was happening. Was he suddenly back in another fantasy? Had he gotten hold of more potion and was all of this the product of his desire? His cock twitched at the sudden thought, while sweat trickled cold down his back.

Harry looked at the Potions Master, fear warring with hope in his eyes.

Holding Harry's gaze, Snape extended one hand towards Harry's collarbone, letting a single fingertip rest against the skin below his throat. Harry's heart visibly beat against the man's touch.

But then Snape sneered.

With a loud ripping of fabric, he tore Harry's shirt open. A second later, he roughly thrust Harry's head down, bending the younger man double.

In the darkness of the courtroom, the torchlight exposed Harry's naked back.

Red lash marks criss-crossed his flesh. For all the world, it looked like the work of a drug-addicted demon. 

Chaos broke out in the courtroom.

The jury members sprang to their feet, shouting and banging their fists on the wooden bench, bursting with outrage, craning their necks to get a better look at Harry, pointing with accusing fingers. "Order, order!" Madam Bones shouted, but the clamouring continued.

Eyes filled with tears, Harry struggled to meet Snape's gaze. The man looked at him in dark triumph.

"I-I don't understand..." Harry's trembled amid the chaos, unheard by anyone but Snape. "H-how? How did you know?"

"You told me yourself, Potter."

But Snape's words didn't make any sense to Harry, who was in shock. "But… I never… Those were my private memories. No one…" A single tear rolled down Harry's cheek.

Snape cocked an eyebrow.

Harry tried to blink back the tears, still not understanding.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to a potion?" Snape asked in a low voice.

Harry only grew more confused. The din in the background pounded against his eardrums, the members of the Wizengamot now shouting at each other over the number of years Harry should spend in Azkaban – the agreement currently a figure in the double digits.

Harry shook his head numbly, tears streaming freely now.

"Did you not manage to cram anything at all into that head of yours in seven years' of Potions study at Hogwarts, Potter?" Snape hissed.

"S-sir?" Harry blubbered.

"Asphodel, as any first-year would know, connects one to one's heart's desire. But it is rarely added to brews that already contain hallucinogenic components, as it can affect the mental faculties of anyone who inhales the potion."

Harry's mind worked frantically, grasping at shreds of Potions knowledge from Hogwarts and his Auror training.

"Ha… hallucinogens? Like which?" he frowned through his tears. 

But Snape pulled away as Madam Bones once more slammed her hammer down on the wooden bench. "Quiet!" she shouted with such force that the other Wizengamot members fell silent.

Fifty pairs of accusing eyes bore down on Harry, who shrank from the jury's glares. Snot ran from his nose and his eyes were puffy with tears.

"Harry James Potter, the Wizengamot has reached its verdict," Madam Bones spoke with cold finality.

"You are hereby found guilty – "

"NO!" Harry shouted.

" – found guilty of one of the most serious crimes punishable by this court," Madam Bones continued without mercy, "as well as the crime of obstructing the course of justice. The jury looks very seriously upon your offences. Some felt your status in the wizarding world needed to be taken into account – "

Madam Bones sent a withering look to a slightly younger witch on the panel, who visibly blanched, "- but given your position as an Auror – a profession expressly dedicated to upholding the rule of law and protecting the magical citizens of Britain from the consequences of crime – we feel your background cannot here be entered as a mitigating circumstance."

Harry was frantic with panic now. "No, no, no," he choked throughout the speech, rocking back and forth as much as the magical bonds would allow.

Snape stood listening just to the side, a dark and foreboding spectre. He had never looked more beautiful. His black eyes remained on Harry.

Madam Bones continued. "Therefore – "

Harry's whimpering became louder. Several members of the jury looked down at him in disgust. "Disgraceful," Griselda Marchbanks muttered on Tiberius Ogden's left.

" – the Wizengamot has decided to sentence you to thirteen years in Azkaban,"

A low wail of sorrow was wrenched from Harry's throat. 

" – as well as a lifelong ban on practicing any magic-related profession, including recreational sports like Quidditch."

Harry slumped forward in his chair, his body convulsing with sobs.

Madam Bones continued reading out the rest of the verdict, including stipulations that bail was not allowed for Class A crimes, and that appeals could only be registered while the accused remained in detention in Azkaban, but Harry barely registered her words.

Suddenly he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. Snape sank down in front of him – seemingly as if to check on Harry, who looked ready to faint.

"Well, well…," the Potions Master whispered right into Harry's ear. "Looks like the fate you once so graciously saved me from now awaits you. How… ironic."

Harry looked up in despair. "I don't understand," he croaked.

"Did you really think I would be grateful for the chance to live out the rest of my days beholden to James Potter's son?" Snape spat out Harry's father's name as if it were poison.

Tears pooled in Harry's eyes. "But I thought… you would be happy to be freed? That maybe you'd started to see me. Just for who I was, just Harry – regardless of my father…" His voice broke. "I thought that maybe you… wanted me."

The boots of the security guards rang out against the stone floor. The chair's bonds were released and handcuffs sprang up around Harry's wrists instead. Heavy fists tightened on his shoulders and dragged him forward. He would be going straight to Azkaban.

"Resist, Potter, and we will be forced to use magical means of sedating you."

Harry couldn't speak, couldn't think. With the last of his strength, he looked at Snape, who'd stepped aside.

The guards half-pushed, half-dragged Harry's limp form. They passed by the Potions Master.

One last time, Snape's silken voice caressed Harry, unheard by anyone else:

"Oh, I got what I wanted alright, Potter. My true heart's desire… After all these years."

Black eyes bore into green, shimmering with gold.

As it dawned on Harry, betrayal and infinite hurt flooded the green.

Harry's gaze was torn away when the guards shoved him towards the dungeon's exit. Over his shoulder, Harry cast a final look. It could still be a dream.

But Snape was already walking away. He had long since taken what he wanted.

In his wake, the Potions Master left only a trail of scent – the scent Harry loved above all others.

Cigarette smoke, woodspice and cold iron.

_Bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses._


End file.
